


More Heart Than Brains

by covertCalligrapher



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Mild Gore, Murder, just kidding, rated M FOR MURDER, rated m for nsfw scenes, seriously though i'll warn you before relevant chapters, will add more characters as they appear in the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 88,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/covertCalligrapher/pseuds/covertCalligrapher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas, a child's therapist, begins advising John Egbert on his life until, after a month of growing closer and becoming friends, a murder occurs and John is the prime suspect. Enter Terezi Pyrope, the young and renowned prosecutor who finds herself unable to believe the 13-year-old boy was guilty of murder and decides to defend him against the legal system she has come to hold so dearly to herself. And thus begins the most important period of time in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has a playlist on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/covertcalligrapher/nervous-heart) and I suggest listening to it. I could also post a download link here on on [my tumblr](http://www.beagletime.tumblr.com) if someone wants it.

****

**More Heart Than Brains: 1**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you have an overbearing brother.

 

“Well Karkat, I never thought I'd see the day you decided to work with children, and yet here you are,” your older brother says from his place in your doorway. He moves into your office and touches one of the pictures on your desk. “How long have you been here? Two years?”

 

You lean further back in your puckered leather chair. “Almost three, maybe a bit more. Who really gives a fuck anyway, it's not like they're stereotypical children. Kids are older than we think, these days.” You stare at a cobweb dancing on your ceiling.

 

Kankri picks up the picture. It's the one the two of you took the one time you went fishing, and neither of you were happy about it. He didn't want to spend time with his dumb 13-year-old brother and you just didn't want to spend time with your family. Hell, you _still_ don't.

 

He purses his lips at you. “You better not being using that language around the children. If they're coming to you, they don't need any more issues to be dealing with.”

 

“Not everyone who comes to therapy has issues. They just need someone to talk to.”

 

Kankri places himself in one of the soft chairs you use for your guests. “You've really grown up so well. I think our father would have been proud.”

 

You snort, the memory of your father a closed wound. “Not really, he thought therapy was for sissies. _You_ he'd be proud of. To him, teaching was a noble profession that should have been at the top of everyone's list of career choices.”

 

He quirks his mouth at you. “He'd be proud of anything you did, metaphysical or otherwise.”

 

You scoff. “I guess.” You glance over at the clock on the wall and slam your hands on your desk, standing. “You need to get going, my next appointment will be here any second. We can have dinner tonight if it makes you feel any better.”

 

Kankri smiles at you and stands. He hands you the picture. “Sounds like a plan. I'll call you after my last lecture, around 8.” He hugs you and then vacates your space.

 

You sigh and push a hand through your ever-messy hair and rub your eyes. You look up at the cobweb on the ceiling again and make a note to dust it down. You don't want to give the spider a reason to stay. You don't even charge rent or have a lease for it to sign.

 

Fuck, why did you think that? You should probably reevaluate your life later, maybe get a girlfriend.

 

You walk over to the door Kankri left open and scan the waiting room for the kid you're supposed to be talking to. The only person in the room is your disgruntled receptionist.

 

“Sollux!” you whisper harshly into the quiet room. He turns his head to look at you, peeking over his sunglasses.

 

“Yes, KK?” His lisp mangles everything he says into terrible ghosts of the English language.

 

“When's my next kid?” You are leaning over the doorway, only your head and left arm visible.

 

“Should be here now.” He turns back to his screen and resumes tapping away.

 

You sigh. “I wanted a time, you dumb fuck.”

 

“This is employee harassment.”

 

“This is _do your fucking job_.”

 

He's about to return with more spit and masticated words when the door jingles and you slam yours. You don't want to intimidate the kid, or seem weak. Like you were waiting for him.

 

You listen as he approaches Sollux. “John Egbert?” the kid says. It sounds like a question.

 

“Yeah, you're right here, go on in. Third door on the right. The one that says “Karkat Vantas.””

 

There's a pause where no sounds are made and then- “Aren't receptionists usually women?”

 

“Aren't you a sexist little tool. Do kids with thick-rimmed glasses actually need them, or are they just trying to be even bigger shits than usual?”

 

 

“I don't think that's how you're supposed to treat patients.”

 

“I don't think your parents appreciate you sitting here, wasting their money talking to a receptionist who is, apparently, supposed to be a woman.”

 

You practically hear the kid shrug to proclaim how done he is with Sollux's shit. He opens the door and closes it softly behind him, standing there like he doesn't know what he should be doing.

 

You gesture to one of the chairs in front of you. “Have a seat, we have some talking to do.”

 

He sits and you sit in the chair next to him. “So, let's start with something easy. What's your name?” you ask.

 

He looks bored with you and stares out the window behind your desk. “John Egbert, age 13, currently in therapy because my father thinks I should be more whimsical like my sister.”

 

“You seem extremely jaded.” You raise an eyebrow and cross your legs.

 

“And why shouldn't I be? I'm sitting in crazy camp right now!” he says, his voice rising. He turns to look at you and his eyes are large and blue and piercing, looking straight through you.

 

You frown and tilt your head. “Karkat Vantas, you can call me by my first or last, and I'll do the same to you. Or be obstinate and just don't call me anything.”

 

He pauses for a moment to consider which to make more embarrassing for you and less for him and seems to decide to call you Karkat, because that's what he immediately addresses you as. “So Karkat, any advice for someone as f-messed-up as I am?”

 

“You can curse. Here, I'll break the ice: _fuck_.”

 

He cracks a smile at this and opens a bit more for you. He leans forward. “You're one of the more relaxed shitheads I've seen.”

 

You press your eyebrows together at this. “That's not something I hear every day. Yeah, I get shithead a lot, but never relaxed.” You pause. “What school do you go to, John?”

 

“I'm home schooled.”

 

“Any friends?”

 

“I have a few penpals and friends from the Homeschooled Association, but other than that, not really.”

 

“You and your sister must be close then.”

 

He shrugs. “I guess we are, her and my father are really all I have so close to me.”

 

You nod in understanding. “I have a brother who I'm pretty close with.”

 

He looks at you for a second before asking, “You have a girlfriend?”

 

“Do I look like I have girlfriend,” you deadpan, your eyelids glossing over your eyes.

 

He looks you over for a moment before settling back into his seat. “No, not really.”

 

“Good, now that we've gotten that part of my pitiful existence out in the open, now tell me more about yourself.” This question is always shit to answer, so you rephrase. “Favourite colour?”

 

He doesn't hesitate to answer. “Blue. Not the light powder blue shit, I mean a good dark blue.”

 

You take in his blue shirt and shorts and it seems to make some sense. “How old is your sister?”

 

“She's 3 years older than me, so she's 16.” He sinks further into the soft furniture.

 

“What's she like?”

 

He considers the nature of his sister for a bit before answering. “She's pretty happy most of the time. And she's silly. Really silly. She's really close with the siblings of my friends.”

 

“The penpals?”

 

“Yeah. My father doesn't like that we don't have friends close by, but he's still happy for us.”

 

You ask the all-purpose question you ask all those who pass through your doors and sink into your beaten-up furniture. “Do you resent him for putting you here?”

 

~~~

 

John never answers your question. Instead he decides to ask what's up with your receptionist.

 

“Sollux,” you'd said, “is a world-class shithead with little-to-no people skills so I took pity on him and begged my boss to give him a job here so he doesn't get kicked out onto his ass.”

 

John smiles at that.

 

Your relationship progresses like that for a month and that's when everything goes to shit. John begins to tell you about a man whom he and his friends have dubbed “Jack Noir” he's being seeing lately, noticing everywhere.

 

“I just... I can't describe it, it's like he's always there, he follows me, or maybe he just goes the same places I do, I feel like I'm going crazy here-” John says, his hair in his fists as his voice quickens and becomes more and more hysterical.

 

You cut him off. “Whoa kid, let's calm the fuck down. You're not crazy, I've met crazy and it's not you.” You tap your desk to get his attention and he starts, the noise jerking him from his memorization of the carpet fibers. “Tell me what he looks like.”

 

John takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. “He's always wearing this really big, ridiculous trench coat. And a black hat. And he might or might not have an eye patch.”

 

“An eye patch.”

 

“I can't make this shit up!” John says. He seems to mean it in a funny way, but the anxiety in his voice tells you he's afraid you'll think he's lying.

 

You don't think he's lying. However, you _do_ think he's just paranoid about it.

 

“I wasn't implying you were. How long have you noticed him following you?” you ask, your fear for John increasing. Maybe this is why his father wanted him to see you. Maybe John just wants attention.

 

“He's been following me for a while now, a few months I guess? Ever since I turned 13.”

 

You nod. “Have you told anyone about it yet?”

 

John sighs and leans back, his face turned towards the cobwebs you still haven't taken down. “Sure, I've told people. I told my dad a few times, my sister knows and I think she thinks I'm lying. I've really been telling my internet friends though.”

 

He's told you about them, Jade, Dave, and Rose. They're his closest friends and even though they have yet to meet in person, he tells you how much he knows about them. He tells you about Dave's love of music and his awesome use of irony. He tells you about how Jade lives on an island in the tropics with her brother and grandfather and dog. You know all about Rose and her love of magic stories and knitting and cats and her violin and her single mother and sister who she claims to be apathetic towards but John knows she loves.

 

Frankly, you'd think that bit about Jade living in the middle of god-fucking nowhere was a lie if he hadn't shown you the pictures. The pictures of her house, her snowy dog, her tall brother in the short-shorts, her grandfather dressed like someone going elephant hunting in the 1800s.

 

It is the conversations with these friends that have gotten John into the worst trouble imaginable.

 

It is that worse trouble imaginable that gets the best thing to ever happen to you to walk through your door for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hey, I got the idea for this on a prompt on tumblr by mage-of-truth:
> 
> somebody write me karezi where karkat is a childrens therapist and they all love him because hes a big grumpy ball of kindness and he actually treats them like theyre equal
> 
> and terezi is a blind lawyer whos put more people in jail than you can count because shes so on the straight and narrow (people who try to bribe her get their asses reported to the police)
> 
> and one day they both work with a child accused of murder
> 
> kk keeps the kid sane and tz tries to prove the kid is innocent and while working they fall in love
> 
> please
> 
> i will love you forever
> 
> ``  
> I got the title from a song by Bike for Three! who is seriously one of the most fantastic composers I've ever had the pleasure of listening to, and I recommend looking up "more heart than brains song bike for three" and listening to the song.
> 
> And that is how this happened. Stay tuned and tell me how it's going.


	2. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 2

**More Heart Than Brains: 2**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are simply the best prosecutor there is.

 

Without a doubt, you have put criminal after criminal behind bars, your legal prowess is without measure. At the age of 16, you graduated high school and began law school. Everyone in all of your classes assumed you were the pity student, too young and too blind to do anything. You were the shit who brought a dog to every class. But you'd proven them wrong, _so_ wrong. Top of your class, younger than the rest and off to a better start. You had one less physical sense but so many more mental ones. You were offered jobs and positions even before you were finished with school, in your internship.

 

You have been a member of the prosecutor's office for four years, and in those four years have never once wavered on your calling. You are all sharp edges and elbows and fake eyes and determination. The way you click around a courtroom, your expert sniffing abilities in sleuthing out lies and contradictions inspire fear in the very witnesses who's words twist and trip around each other.

 

There's nothing like a good murder case. Lies, deceit, bodies, remorse and cowardice all producing such a spectacular bouquet for your nose for partake in. Like the one you were dealing with.

 

A politician was involved in the murder of a Joe Shmoe, things were just starting to heat up and get juicy when you were pulled away to take a look at the file you are now being read.

 

“One John Egbert, aged 13 years, born April 14th at Mercy Hospital, Hutchstown. Accused of murder in the 2nd degree. The victim is one Regina Nigera, aged 42 years, born June 12th, hospital not available. Cause of death is multiple stab wounds to the chest ranging in severity from minor cuts to deep organ ruptures,” Nepeta, your assistant reads off to you.

 

“A kid?” you ask, surprised at the brutality from someone so young. “How many stab wounds?”

 

Nepeta pauses and you can hear her shuffle the papers. You're currently sitting cross-legged in a metal chair in an interrogation room. You tend to retire to an empty one with Nepeta in order to review case files without disturbing anyone else or being disturbed.

 

“12,” Nepeta says finally. You nod, your cane tapping on the floor in a steady rhythm. Senator Lemonsnout huffs at your feet. She's a good dog, guiding you places your ears, nose, and cane can't.

 

“Motive?” you ask.

 

“Paranoia induced psychosis,” Nepeta answers.

 

You sit up. “And The Boss wants me to prosecute- this boy?”

 

Nepeta answers with a definitive yes.

 

You rap your cane loudly on the floor and Lemon rubs her muzzle against your hip. “Let's go and speak to the boy!”

 

And this is how you end up in the holding cell of the precinct that brought the boy in. You walk into the room, Lemon leading the charge and tapping your cane every step of the way, counting exits and alternate routes. Nepeta follows you inside.

 

You slide your cane along the floor, a cold metal scraping resounding through the cinder block-sounding room. It hits a solid object. You presume it is a chair and sit in it. You hear Nepeta sit down next to you and Lemon takes her place over your feet.

 

You extend an arm directly in front of yourself. It is taken by a firm grasp from your left. “Terezi Pyrope,” you say, turning your head.

 

“Johnathan Egbert, John's father,” a voice says. Tenor, yet soft and comforting, a very fatherly tone. You enjoy the sound of his voice.

 

Your hand is then accosted by one smaller, softer and weaker, the grip unsure. “John Egbert.” His voice is high, not yet deepened into that of a man's.

 

“Great, now let's speak--” you start and are immediately stopped by a loud, scraping voice that bounces off the walls and rattles your head.

 

“I don't get a handshake!?” the voice shouts from your right. You thought you heard heavy breathing coming from that direction.

 

You turn your head to face him, your eyes concealed by the red-tinted shades you always wear. Then again, you think they're red, considering you only have your sister and Nepeta's word for it. “I wasn't aware there was another person in the room.”

 

You can practically hear the blood boiling in his face, creating thick red blotches all over skin. “You lawyers really are all the same! You are the third one we've had the displeasure of talking to, and you seem to be the most heinous of the bunch!” he growls, voice rising in pitch and harsh grating sound. “And who the ff-- who actually wears sunglasses indoors?”

 

You grin at him, shark-like and hungry. Nepeta says from your left, “She's blind, sir.”

 

You hear nothing but silence and breathing and the cogs in someone's head grinding together. “Well,” the grating voice pushes out.

 

You remove your glasses to show them the holes in your head you filled with small red shells of polished plastic. John gasps and his father lets out a quiet “ah.”

 

 

“Now, sourpants, what's your name?”

 

You hear him quietly damning his existence. “Karkat Vantas. I'm John's therapist.”

 

You fold you glasses and place them on the table. You hear Nepeta take them. “Ah, so you are here to give me John's background and tell me what's going on.”

 

And he does. He asks Mr. Egbert to leave before he does, though, to give the four of you more privacy. Nepeta stays quiet as she usually does, speaking only when she reads something to you.

 

John has confided in Karkat that he has been seeing a dark figure around him and that it was he who had committed the atrocious murder, and not him. The woman and he just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the murder occurred, it wasn’t him, it was Jack.

 

Against all of your better judgment, the way they tell the story with such conviction, you can't help but believe them. After you finish speaking with them, Nepeta writes down your personal number and hands it to them. Karkat gives you his card and asks you to call any time you need anything something is turned over John's case.

 

You leave, and once you, Nepeta and Lemon Snout are in your car, you ask Nepeta, “Do you think he did it?”

 

She's quiet for a long time before she answers, “No, I actually don't. I don't think that Jack guy did it either, but I really do think John was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

You think on that when you arrive back at the prosecutor's office. You can't go up against this kid, _kid_. Just a child. You've seen some pretty nasty shit in your time, but all the papers Nepeta read off to you, and talking with John, Karkat and his father you believe he is innocent. You tell your boss as much.

 

When asked why you have told him this, you say that you don't think the kid is guilty. He asks what you're going to do about it. You say you don't know, but you can't prosecute him, you're going to follow his case, though. He says he'll hand it off to someone else then, and you're on your way.

 

You head home, Nepeta proclaiming her state of exhaustion after entering the newly acquired numbers in your phone. You stay awake, your non-eyes bothering you. The weight of the plastic is heavy in your head as the night wears on and your phone announces that it is 1 AM. You think about John and how to help him in his jam and come to one, solitary conclusion on how to help the boy you had just met.

 

You were going to represent him.

 

You ask your phone to call KARKAT VANTAS and after a few rings, the grating voice is booming from your phone's tinny speaker.

 

“It's one in the fucking morning, Ms. Pyrope. Is there something I need to be told?”

 

You smile at the phone, his harsh voice comforting you in an odd way. “Call me Terezi. I have decided to help you and your clients out. I wish to represent Mr. John Egbert, and not damn him to certain sentence by prosecuting!”

 

There is a pause filled with white-noise until he answers. “Is that even legal?”

 

You respond cheerily. “I am not a defense attorney, so I am not legally allowed to accept any monetary payment. This will be strictly pro-bono for me!”

 

“Well,” Karkat says. “Call me Karkat. Come to the address on the card tomorrow morning at 9 and I guess we could work something out.”

 

You respond with a definitive that you will be there and you hear a very long silence on the other end of the line and you think he's hung-up. That is, until you hear a very small, “Thank you” before the receiver cuts off and the call ends.

 

You put the phone in your pocket and smile at the ceiling. You do not know it yet, but this will turn out to be the best decision in your 27 years of living, right next to deciding you wanted to be a lawyer when you were 3 years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was chapter 2!


	3. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 3

**More Heart Than Brains: 3**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you have a hard life. You try very hard to be nice to people, at least at first, but after a few moments of talking to them, you find yourself with the intense urge to shove your fist down their throats and rip out their teeth. It's not you, it's the both of you, you just hate everyone and everything.

 

Maybe that's why you chose to work with children. Adults are so tiresome to you, everyone running around thinking they know everything there is to know. Children do it too, you know that. But it's different with them, they lack the same entitlement they gain as they age. Maybe you're still a child too and that's why you act like a little shit all day every day.

 

Like today, your first day under the advisement of Terezi Pyrope, an extremely insane and extremely brilliant lawyer.

 

After she called you while you were lying awake trying to sleep, you rose and looked her up. Turns out, she has a near perfect conviction rate. You perused your search engine of choice for a bit before you stumbled upon an article someone wrote about her in the city's paper almost a year ago. 

 

“ _Terezi Pyrope doesn't look like the first person someone would turn to when they've been victimized. The tall, sharp prosecutor is extremely young, at only 26 years. Attending university at only 16 years old puts her at a magnificent conviction rate. Especially so for someone at the game for only 3 years._

 

“ _Ms. Pyrope lives in an apartment in the lower side with her friend and aide, Nepeta Leijon. The two have been companions since Leijon began attending university with Pyrope and was matched with her after Pyrope's old aide left the college._

 

“ _Terezi Pyrope's story began at a young age when a few months after her birth, her parents were killed in a fatal car accident- this left her and her older sister of 6 years, Latula, orphaned. Staying in a foster home for their entire lives, Terezi recounts that, when she herself was 7, Latula injured herself playing on the playground outside their school, effectively losing her ability to smell. At the age of 12, Terezi, was involved in a devastating accident where her and 3 of her friends were injured gravely. Pyrope's eyes were damaged severely and removed from her skull, while one of her friends present lost her left eye and part of a hand. Of the remaining two friends, one lost the motor function of his legs and the other was declared dead at the scene but later resuscitated in the hospital._

__

 

 

“ _After remaining in a coma for a year of her life, she later recovered but sustained massive damage to her brain .This left her with long and short-term memory loss in addition to damaging her ability to reason._

 

“ _At the age of 13, shortly after her accident Pyrope abandoned her hopes of becoming an artist and instead turned to her mind towards law. Fascinated at a young age, her interest rapidly grew into passion as she attended a school for the blind, skipping two grade levels and graduating with honors._

 

“ _Ms. Pyrope remains one of the youngest and most brilliant people to go to work for her current precinct, overcoming such extreme hurdles in her life to date.”_

 

Her assistant is with her, a small girl with a penchant for the colors green and blue. You learned that her name is Nepeta, a friend and associate of Terezi's who reads important documents and helps her move around without causing a traffic jam.

 

“Alright,” Terezi says, her voice even and controlled. You, John, and Terezi are sitting together in the visitor's room of the juvenile prison. “This is really our first time together as a team, so I'm not going to sugar-coat anything: things are not looking good. John is going to go before the grand jury to determine whether or not he can be tried as an adult.”

 

“Tried... as an _adult_ ,” John says slowly, looking extremely tired and extremely frightened.

 

You pinch your nose. “ _Fuck_ ,” you mutter.

 

“Language, Karkat,” Terezi chides you, shark-like grin breaking her lips.

 

“This isn't any time to be talking down to me about my language. Fuck, The Egberts only agreed to let you defend their son because a) we legally cannot pay you and b) you are probably the only person who thinks John's innocent,” you ramble at the blind prosecutor. Your hands wave about your curly head to express the extent of your gratefulness that she has taken pity on the boy and to express the extent your exasperation that she has taken pity on the boy.

 

“I want my dad,” John says before Terezi can respond to your rampant flailing.

 

The three of you look at John and you hear Terezi's SED snuffling under the table.

 

“I know he's in work right now, I just really want him to be here,” John says, his voice melting as he turns his head down into the table. He lifts his hands, brings them halfway back down, and then lifts them fully onto the table.

 

You sigh and run your hand through your hair. Terezi leans back in her chair and is so blessedly silent, Nepeta feels the need to say something.

 

“Would you like to call him? I could ask the guard if it would be okay?” she asks, her voice high and sweet. She rises from her chair but makes no other moves. You stare at her.

 

John looks at her, his eyes heavy. “No, I don't want to talk to him, I want him to be here.”

 

Nepeta nods, seeming to assume that John's weighted face was trying to convey something to her. “I'll go call him, see if he can take off for a few hours to be here.”

 

Nepeta leaves the room and you can hear her talking quietly with the guard outside.

 

Terezi clears her throat. “Well. I don't think you understand how far into this you are.” Terezi reaches into her bag and feels for a specific binder. She places it on the table and you reach for it.

 

You sigh as you look at the papers. Terezi speaks as you thumb through the letters and legal documents. “If John is tried as an adult, his age will not be taken into account. If that happens, he will be viewed only through his actions and the jury will be told to consider him as an adult.”

 

You read through a few of the papers and it looks as much. His hearing is in a week, and until then, you must prepare John mentally for it. This not going to be an easy job. John is an easy-going kid, but this is tough on the strongest people. You look at her plastic red eyes. “How are they going to move him to be charged as an adult, though? He's 13!”

 

John doesn't say anything. You feel like he's trying to press himself through the chair and into the floor.

 

Terezi taps her cane on the floor at a steady pace. “They produce evidence stating that he is completely responsible for his actions, even though his case file states that he flew into a trance-like state and completely stabbed a woman to death.”

 

John swallows. “How does that make me an adult?”

 

Terezi quirks her mouth down. “There is substantiating evidence which supports the claim that you remained in complete control of your reasoning faculties, as well as your ability to feel that what you were doing was wrong, _because_ of the severity of the wounds, the excessive amount of them and the way you were found. That, and murder is an extremely serious crime. This indictment is not without precedent.”

 

John heaves a sigh and looks at the room's door. “But I barely remember what happened! They can't tell me what I did if I can't remember.”

 

“Actually they can,” Terezi says, smiling sadly. “I've been doing it for years.”

 

You look at her, really look at her. Her glasses are off and her eyes are a solid red, the tops of her eyelids slightly swollen. She seemed cruel when you met her yesterday, but then she accepted John's hopeless case and is now _admitting_ to how horrid the law can be.

 

John seems displeased. “So you've sent people who you think were innocent to jail.”

 

Terezi moves her head to the side and considers the wall with her fake eyes. She opens her mouth in a small frown. “I- innocents don't go to jail, so I don't send them.”

 

“This isn't the time to harass her about how well she does her job, just be glad she's on our side,” you say, awkwardly petting John's head.

 

Terezi's mouth opens again, this time in a smile. “Sucking up is usually something we lawyers do to clients, not the other way around.”

 

You itch to flip her off but remember you're being recorded. You don't want to make things any harder for anyone at this point so you just frown intensely at the prosecutor. The ruffles of her shirt bounce as she laughs at your expression. You look away because you were staring at a blind girl's chest and _what is wrong with you_.

 

Nepeta returns after Terezi describes to John that he will have to produce any and all witnesses he can. The witnesses need to pertain to what happened in the alley where the murder occurred both before, during, and after. John suggested contacting his friends for information, and Terezi stated that she would contact the police station as to whether or not it would it be applicable to request them as witnesses. As witnesses for the defense, Terezi would be allowed to gather information from them, but needed to turn any of her findings over to the police. She also stated that she will need to speak John's family- and all of his friends separately.

 

Nepeta informs John that his father cannot leave work, having already missed too much time off work. He promises to be there as soon as he gets off of work.

 

You all finish talking about John and she and Nepeta pack up to leave. You stay behind. Terezi, as if sensing you inactivity, stops and faces you. 

 

“Are you staying with him?” She asks while Nepeta gathers up the papers on the table.

 

You shrug. “I might as well, I didn't drive here and have nowhere to go. I figured I'd keep John company.”

 

Nepeta speaks up. “I could give you a ride back, if you'd like.”

 

You shake your head but John says he wants to be alone. You look at him and your eyes feel like they clench. John's gotten much older since he's been here, you can tell. Just the stress of incarceration has aged him years in a few weeks.

 

He glances at you and jerks his chin for you to go with them.

 

So you do. They lead you out of the building and into a small, blue car parked in a handicap space.

 

Your face squishes into something extremely unamused. “You used the handicapped space.”

 

Terezi laughs and Nepeta grins. “I think being blind warrants the use of the handicapped space,” Nepeta says, unlocking the car.

 

You watch Terezi as she runs her hand along the hood and feels her way to the passenger side. Nepeta opens the back door for you to get in, but Terezi's dog pushes its way in before you and sits behind her seat. You grumble about mangy mutts before you get in.

 

“She's a purebred Labrador retriever, and you are probably more mangy than she is,” Terezi sniffs from the front seat as Nepeta starts the car up.

 

The dog that apparently comes from better stock than you moves over and drapes herself over your lap, deciding that right there would be a great place to begin drooling. 

 

You grumble more quietly about the woes of your life until it strikes you that they do not know where you live.

 

“Hey, don't you need my address?” You call from the back seat.

 

“Yes, that would probably help,” Nepeta answers, putting on the turn signal to enter the main roads.

 

You tell them your address and Terezi asks if you really want to go home right now. You say yes, you have had a long day.

 

She says you're coming with them anyway and Nepeta laughs at your misfortune of getting kidnapped by a blind prosecutor and her small assistant.

 

“Can you at least tell me where you're taking me?” you ask, already resigned to your fate of getting murdered and dumped on the side of the road. You push the dog's head off your lap but she promptly replaces it and begins to lick your hand.

 

“We need to visit the station so I can put in the request for John's friends to be flown in. If I can prove that their testimony will be material to both the defense and the prosecution, the Prosecutor's Office will probably have them flown in on budget. Also, I need to you to speak with them as well,” Terezi states, rubbing the head of her cane.

 

You give the dog another shove before asking, “John's friends or talk to the DA?”

 

Terezi turns to face you and smiles. “Both!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying very hard to make these chapters smaller and easier to read, because I usually write 10,000 words per chapter.


	4. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 4

**More Heart Than Brains: 4**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are currently in trial.

 

Not the big guns trial, the little one that will decide whether or not you can go to the big guns trial.

 

You are fighting for John Egbert's right to be tried as a juvenile in family court rather than dragging him through the mud in a full-scale trial.

 

“John Egbert,” the prosecutor asks, his shoes scuffling on the floor as he paces. “Would you be so kind as to relate for the Jury what occurred on the night of October 13th, 2012.”

 

You hear John take a deep breath and expel it into the microphone, the room echoing the puff of air. It bounces off the rafters and by the time it reverberates outside of the courtroom, John has begun to speak.

 

“I was walking home from the post office and decided to get a drink and stopped off at a little shop. Inside, I bought a bottle of apple juice and when I left, I glanced down a side alley next to the shop and I s-s-saw this man th-tha-a-at's been following me f-f-f-for a long time now.”

 

You nod your head, and the prosecution's shoes tap tap tap on the floor as he walks. “What happened next?”

 

He doesn't respond immediately. You hear a slight sniff and fidgeting in his chair, the air around him wafts over to you and is saturated with the smell of fear and apprehension. You try to face him, molding your face into one of sympathy at his position.

 

“I don't really remember. I-I-I remember that I saw him and then I was down the alley and there was a woman on the ground and there was _so much blood_ -” he cuts off sharply, a huge shuddering breath thrashing from his frame

 

You remain facing him, a small sympathetic smile on your face. You want to tell him it's alright, keep going. The prosecutor does it instead.

 

He does.

 

“I-I tried to stop the bleeding because I didn't know if she was dead or not and I was just scared.” Another deep exhale and inhale. “I pulled the knife out and the blood started coming out faster and faster and I tried to p-pr-press my hands on the all the cuts but there were too many of them. Then someone screamed and they came in and pulled me off of her and then the police showed up and I was arrested.”

 

The prosecutor taps his cane on the floor. “You don't remember what happened in the period of time between seeing this man and trying to aid the victim, Regina Nigera?”

 

John takes a deep breath. “No, I was told later that is was some sort of PTSD.”

 

You nod your head while the prosecutor speaks to the Jury. He wants them to judge John on the evidence and his testimony. Do they believe John should be tried as an adult or as a juvenile for his actions. He wants them to keep in mind the type of crime and the brutality of which the crime was committed.

 

You want to say something about how this incriminate John more than is strictly necessary, but you know there would hardly be a point.

 

You hear John vacate the chair and pad over to you, pulling the chair open to your left and sitting, the chair scraping the floor. You hear Nepeta pat him on the arm.

 

You vacate the court to wait for the jury to get back with their decision. While Nepeta drives you to a diner you ruminate on what happened when you dragged Karkat to the station last week.

 

Karkat had put up quite the fight, him and Lemon fighting over the back seat all way to the station house. Your boss had decided that since John's friends where the only people John had come into contact with ever, and he had had discussed his mystery man sightings with them, they were material witnesses and had them flown down on the budget of the station. They were being put up in the usual motel the station uses for witnesses.

 

They were contacted and flown in promptly.

 

Karkat had interviewed them and shared the recordings of their sessions with you and the prosecution. The prosecution is a harsh man, good at his job and someone you admire for his ability to get the job done. He mocks you for defecting and that your win streak is on the line here.

 

You tell him he should be worried; his win would put a child into jail.

 

You listened to the recordings of Karkat's sessions later that night.

 

First up was Dave Strider.

 

“So Dave, you have known John for a long time?” The rustling of papers is heard.

 

Dave voice is calm and quirked with sarcasm. “Is that a tape recorder?”

 

“Yes, now answer the question.”

 

“Why are you recording this?”

 

Karkat's voice rises in pitch and anger. “Just tell me how long you've known John for.”

 

“Are you going to sell this on some weird kink site.”

 

“Listen you little--” Karkat breaks off and takes a deep breath. “Just answer the question.”

 

“Alright, alright, untwist your panties. I've known John for a few years. We met in a video game chat room when we were... 10, maybe? Yeah, 10.”

 

“And for what portion of that time did John have reoccurring visions of this “Jack” character?”

 

“Why are you talking like that. John says you're angry as shit all of the time. You just sound like a massive tool.”

 

You can almost hear the muscles in Karkat's face twitch. “This is going to be used to make the case that John is not a murderer and yet you feel the need to mess me up as much as possible.”

 

Dave's session goes on like that, as does his older brother's, though with a little less fucking around.

 

Up next is a Jade Harley.

 

“Alright Jade, tell me when you met John.”

 

“When I met John I was... 8? Yeah I was 8! Or was I 9? No, it was definitely 8.”

 

You can hear Karkat's voice dropping, growing annoyed so quickly. “You don't remember.”

 

“I'm very forgetful.”

 

“Then why are we talking to each other.”

 

“Well, I still know John!”

 

“What's that all over your fingers?”

 

You can hear the smile in the girl's voice. “Memory reminders!”

 

You hear Karkat slap something, most likely his face. “Why are you wearing those?”

 

“I don't really need them anymore. I just haven't gotten around to taking them off. They still help me remember important things.”

 

You hear Karkat groan.

 

Jade's brother, Jake, has a similarly frustrating session.

 

“What do you _mean_ I 'need to get a lady'?” Karkat shouts, his voice incredulous.

 

“Well, women are a positive and form of stability in our lives, and you my friend could use some stabilizers-”

 

“Get out of my office.”

 

You're not even going to bother remembering Rose Lalonde's session. The entire time she was psychoanalyzing Karkat to the point where _he_ left the room out of frustration and misplaced anger. He shouldn't be angry at the child; he should be angry that the child slapped his daddy issues on the ass and rode it like a show pony.

 

Roxy Lalonde, the older sister of Rose, went about as well as is expected of someone who does not spend many of their waking hours in a state of sobriety.

 

“Can we turn that down a bit? The light hurts my eyes,” Roxy asks, her voice wincing and pained.

 

Karkat takes a moment to respond. “Roxy, it's practically night time in here. If it got any darker, we'd be in an LA Noir movie.”

 

“Well, we better get started on that then.”

 

And so on.

 

However, he did gather some valuable information from the spitfire children. John has been seeing this strange man, Jack, as they've so not-fondly dubbed him. John has been becoming more and more stressed by his presence as the days rolled past.

 

You believe that while the man might not be real, John could have been tossed into a state of shock after witnessing the murder and blocked it out with the man he had come to associate with terror and foreboding. This is a fine theory, except for the part where the actual murderer has not yet been located.

 

You await the verdict outside the courthouse, at a diner. You, Karkat, Nepeta and Mr. Egbert take a table together while the 8 kids sit together at a composite table.

 

“Ms. Pyrope, what do you think are the chances that John will have to face these charges as an adult?” Mr. Egbert asks, sipping loudly from a cup of...coffee. Definitely coffee.

 

“Well,” you begin, placing your sandwich on the table. “The court may be out for a while deciding on what to do. After all, the jury must be unanimous in their decision. However, I do believe that John actually is in danger of being tried as an adult.”

 

You hear a pained swallow and Lemon snuffles under the table to console him. Karkat, on the other hand is in his perpetual state of petulance.

 

“Why would you say that?” he asks, his voice irate and worn.

 

You smile at him in his seat across from you, smart and pointed. “Do you want me to sugarcoat things for you so you can be more disappointed later?”

 

“I'd like it if you could show a scrap of decency for a distressed family!”

 

“Karkat, it's okay,” Mr. Egbert says and you detect the smell of resignation and the sound of nylon scraping against the plastic of your booth. He vacates the booth and Karkat makes to go with him, but he tells him he just needs to make a few calls.

 

“I don't think he's going to be moved to family court,” Nepeta says solemnly once Mr. Egbert is out of earshot.

 

You remain staid while Karkat asks Nepeta what she means.

 

“Well,” she replies, placing her cup on her saucer with a 'clink!', “I was watching the Jury the entire time, and while a few seemed sympathetic to John, the majority seemed like he was just lying to beat the murder rep.”

 

You nod your head to the side, considering. “That seems extremely plausible.”

 

“Do neither of you care that John could be convicted?” Karkat asks, his voice distrustful.

 

“We've seen court before, and you obviously have not,” you answer, taking another bite from your sandwich.

 

Karkat is going to reply before your phone rings, announcing it is the courthouse. The jury is in.

 

–

 

You and John are standing at your bench, ready to take the verdict that will either put John into a juvenile facility or held in county jail, and whether or not he will be allowed out on bail bonds.

 

The shuffle of feet and scraping of chairs alerts you to the presence of the jury filing out and standing before their seats.

 

The Judge asks them what they find the defendant.

 

The jurors reply, one after the other that John should be tried as an adult and you sigh, resigned. You hear the blood leave John's face, the space next to you growing cold and sorrowful.

 

He slaps his hands to his face, his father reaching over to hold him. He friends shout condolences from behind you in the spectator benches and the judge calls for them to control themselves. You reach over to awkwardly pat his arm.

 

“It's okay, this isn't the end, John!” you say, trying to perk up. Lemon's tail smacks your leg as she wags it, getting worked up over all the ruckus. “We just need to amp up our game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now this chapter would be riddled with completely terrible errors and such if not for a wonderful someone I found to be my beta!


	5. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has pictures? And if you wanted to know, [this](http://beagletime.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr. Also, I'll put any alternate covers I have for this in the chapter I made it for.

****

**More Heart Than Brains: 5**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you need to amp up your game.

 

That reason is specifically why you and Sollux are locked in your apartment with Terezi, trying to figure out what the actual fuck to do.

 

Terezi being here is not something you enjoy. She is annoying and smug and uses her disability to make you feel like shit. And then, she's suddenly sympathetic and not completely ass-numbingly annoying and you feel your insides clench uncomfortably.

 

“See this, this is not something I would ever want to get involved with,” Sollux rasps, his harsh voice mangling the sentence into a ghost of intelligible speech. He is holding John's case file and just reading all of the odds stacked against him.

 

“Actually, I don't see that,” Terezi says and you hate her again. She takes one of her fingers and pokes herself directly in her fake eye. “I can't see why you wouldn't want to get involved with this.”

 

Sollux plants a hand on his face, his glasses coming off and hitting the floor. “Jesus Christ, that physically pained me.”

 

Your eye twitches. “Can we act like adults for once in our miserable lives?”

 

Terezi laughs, her voice sweet and her mirth cackling. Sollux groans and puts the file on your table. “I am perfectly mature,” Sollux grates out, his finger twitching towards Terezi. “She's supposed to be the most adult out of all of us.”

 

“I _am_ the most adult,” Terezi says, closing her eyes. She sticks her nose in the air and sniffs. “I also happen to be the most fun.”

 

“What part of this is _fun?_ ” you deadpan at her. Your hand itches to hit her; to hit _something,_ but you don't act on the impulse. Assault on a blind lawyer would most likely result in your license being revoked along side a stint in jail.

 

“Well, the dog drool certainly livens things up,” Sollux mutters. He gestures with his mismatched eyes towards the growing stain on your pants. Lemon looks up at you, her eyes sad and begging you to rub her head.

 

“Goddamn dog is ruining my clothes, Terezi!” you shout, batting the animal from your vicinity.

 

Terezi reaches for the whimpering creature and hold her close. “I resent that! I can't see a thing wrong with what she's doing.”

 

“Are you always this fucking hilarious?”

 

Terezi's mouth slashes open. “Only around you, sourpants.”

 

Sollux gets up and mutters something that sounds distinctly like 'get a room.'

 

You punch him in the hip. Sollux, as the complete drama queen he is, throws himself theatrically into your cabinets.

 

Terezi faces the limp form of the Sollux draped over your counters and blinks. “Either Karkat's shelves fell down or Sollux fell into them.”

 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut. “I don't even know why I asked him to come over.”

 

Sollux straightens up and opens your fridge. He speaks to your carton of milk. “You wanted an extra pair of eyes.”

 

“That's offensive,” Terezi says.

 

“I have sight privilege,” Sollux states. He pulls out a plate of what you presume to be the thing you were going to eat for dinner, and begins to eat it.

 

“Goddammit Sollux, that is my dinner!” you shout, reaching for the plate.

 

Sollux holds it out of your reach, his massive height making reaching anything from your small stature an impossible fantasy.

 

“I don't have any food at my apartment, so really, this is an act of kindness,” Sollux spits out around a mouthful of chicken.

 

Terezi laughs. Her dog barks, its tail beating the legs of your kitchen table. “Karkat, surely you can impart this kindness to your seemingly only friend?” Terezi asks. You look over at her. Her elbows are on your table, her hands propping up her chin. Her mouth is crooked with that god-fucking smile she wears plastered on all the time.

 

Sollux nods in agreement. You sigh, resigned to the fact that everyone, _especially_ your friends, hates you. Your body falls limply back into your chair and Sollux resumes eating your fridge. Things go on like this, you really being the only one even attempting to get actual work done.

 

You haven't seen the Egberts since John's pretrial and you honestly don't want to. John's been let out on bail and his father had to get a loan to pay. Their family is taking it pretty hard, but you don't want to push yourself into their personal life too much. They deserve to be together now, and John's friends deserve to see him in the flesh.

 

Which is precisely why you have to put up with these two ass wipes if you want to get anything done.

 

However, you may be able to make progress in John's defense yet! Sollux gets a call from his brother's doctor and has to leave, has to bring him for some procedure or something, you really give zero shits. What that _does_ mean is that you and Terezi are alone and going to get shit done. Definitely amp up your game.

 

You work together, her listening to the recordings of court, recordings of your sessions, recordings of someone breathing for 15 fucking hours. She has recordings of everything and it is by the grace of God you don't get up and choke her to death with the recording tape.

 

Though, after listening to your canned voice for the 800th time, you stand up. Your palms slamming on the table, Terezi hears and feels the vibrations. Her dog shoots up from the ball it was curled into and scrabbles around on your floor. You wince as you hear her claws dragging scrapes into the wood.

 

Terezi turns towards you and asks you why you're trying to break the table.

 

You say you are attempting to break it into smaller, more easily ingestible pieces because there is nothing to eat in this house and maybe, _just maybe_ , the splinters will kill you so you don't have to listen to that _stupid_ tape recorder.

 

Terezi tells you to calm the fuck down, you can go and get something to eat.

 

She rolls her eyes towards the table and then up at you. “What time is it?” she asks.

 

You glance over at the clock and tell her it's time for dinner.

 

She thanks you for respecting her lack of ability to see and giving her a bullshit answer.

 

You say you specialize in bullshit. You have a Masters. You're going for your doctorate just as soon as your career as someone who gives two fucks takes off.

 

“Welp,” Terezi says, “if you're going anywhere, I'm gonna have to come with you.”

 

“Why?” you ask. You could be asking her, _or_ you could be asking whatever deity hates you so much as to continuously fuck with your life like this.

 

She grins, her skin shifting to accommodate the expansion of her lips. “Nepeta needs to do something for her friend. He can get pretty needy!”

 

You stare at her. “So I'm stuck with you.”

 

“Unless you want to release me to the public.”

 

“Doesn't that _beast_ lead you places? Isn't that the whole point.”

 

“Her name is Lemon and she is my faithful seeing-eye dog. Just, we don't know how to get home from here.”

 

“I could give you directions.”

 

“And risk me getting hit by a car? That's negligence.”

 

You cover your face with your hands and groan. “Fine, but I'm not paying for you.”

 

Terezi smirks and replies that she never asked you to.

 

–

 

You go to a Chinese restaurant. It takes a bit of convincing and a flash of Terezi's prosecutor's license before they'll let the dog inside with you.

 

You discuss your lives over noodles and egg rolls.

 

 

“So, Karkat,” Terezi says. She speaks between the bits of food rolling around in her mouth. “Why'd you decide to work with kids?”

 

You stare the at the grotesque scene that is her table manners before answering. “My brother always told me to stop being such a child, so I decided to spite him.”

 

Terezi laughs. “Well, that seems as good a reason as any!” You eat for a few more moments, her god-fucking dog drooling on your feet.

 

You slip her an egg roll and she merrily eats it over your shoes. Ungrateful little shit.

 

“So, why are you a lawyer?” you ask, though you know part of her answer already. You're trying to come off like you _haven't_ already investigated her life.

 

She considers her food with her plastic eyes before answering, “Well, I was always so fascinated by it. Ever since I was 12 and lost my eyes, it's been my chosen career.”

 

“You're so calm about it. Do you even care?” you ask, lifting food to your mouth.

 

Terezi's face sours. “Of course I care! I wanted to be an artist, but eyes are sort of necessary tools of the trade.” She reaches down to pet her mutt. “But crying about it won't get me anywhere, so I just make do with what I'm given.”

 

You squint your eyes at her and she tells you to stop staring at her.

 

You tell her there are better things to look at.

 

“Why red?” you ask eventually.

 

“What?”

 

“Red eyes. You can't even see them, so why get a solid color?”

 

“Oh,” she says, putting down her fork. She dips a finger into her cup of water and taps her eye. A small spatter of liquid comes off and clings to the smooth orb. “My eyes don't really turn that much, they're not real,” she says as she turns her eyes, the small spatter of water never moving enough to be sucked under an eyelid. She blinks a few times and the drop dissappears. “I have a few pairs, most of them are solid colors, and one of them is the color my eyes used to be.”

 

You're mildly disgusted and fascinated at the same time. “What color were your eyes?”

 

“I remember them looking like my sisters. They were a dark blue-green. A teal-ish color.”

 

Your face and voice are skeptical. “I've never seen teal eyes before.”

 

“You've never seen my eyes, either.”

 

You look at your food and then at her. “I have red eyes. Well, not like super red. Like brownish red.”

 

Terezi grins at you. “Red's my favorite color, you know.”

 

You roll your eyes. “You can't see anything.”

 

She laughs, short and hard. “I can still smell and feel and taste and hear. I remember eating red candies when I was younger, and they were always cherry-flavored. I got more than my fair share of cavities that way, but whenever I smell or taste cherries, I feel the color red.”

 

“That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

 

“Well, you're a grump-puss. What's your favorite color?”

 

“I hate everything.”

 

Terezi really barks out a laugh at you. She hits the table in her laughter and startles her dog into launching itself at your legs. “Goddammit!” you shout at the mangy animal.

 

She wipes a non-existent tear from her eye and flicks it away. “Oh, that was funny!”

 

Your mouth twitches into an involuntary smile. “I aim to please.” You knee her dog away from yourself. “Now could you give me a less bullshit answer as to why you chose to freak everyone out with red eyes.”

 

“I already told you. Red tastes and smells like cherries. Red feels smooth and waxy with a slight drag. Red makes me laugh. Light blue tastes sour, like raspberries. Its smell makes my nose pucker and my teeth hurt from how sweet and sour it is. It feels bumpy and dusty, like those Warhead candies. It makes me sneeze.”

 

You stare at her again and she blinks at you. “How the fuck did you ever graduate school.”

 

Her eyes squint shut with the smile she throws at you. “With honors!”

 

–

 

You escort her home with all of her paperwork after you eat. It takes about 10 minutes and you are convinced she just wanted to bother you. She just wanted to put you out of your way to take pity on a not-so-defenseless blind girl and bring her to her flat.

 

You bring her to her front door and she asks you to come in, just to help her put some things away.

 

“Hm,” she huffs, jiggling the door knob.

 

“What's wrong?” you ask. Great, you're probably at the wrong apartment and are about to get arrested and brought to jail and you can't afford to pay for that, being a new therapist does not pay well.

 

She opens the door, her keys unused. “The door was open.”

 

Super, you're about to get killed by whoever broke into her apartment.

 

Her dog leads the attack, running inside ahead of Terezi. She follows suit, her cane sliding and tapping on the floor, searching for displaced objects. You walk in and the first thing you see is Lemon hopping up and licking a tall, _painfully beautiful_ girl. She looks like Terezi with less laugh lines and square sunglasses.

 

Terezi hears her presence and grins. “Latula!” she exclaims, sliding over to hug her sister.

 

You watch the two of them gleefully hug and proclaim how great it is to see each other from your place in the doorway.

 

You muse on how great you are at imitating a bookshelf before clearing your throat.

 

Latula looks over at you and smiles, her arm around Terezi. Terezi introduces you as that angry children's therapist she told her about.

 

 

“Oh, the one that curses all the time,” Latula says, her voice so similar to Terezi's. She walks over to you and takes the things from your arms. She dumps them on the floor before reaching out to hug you. You try to flinch away, but she gets you in a strong grip.

 

She pulls away after a moment and looks down at you. “Nice to meet you!”

 

You make an incoherent squeak. You look to the side and see Terezi grinning at you. “Terezi's mentioned me?”

 

Latula giggles, the sound strikingly familiar and feminine. “Terezi tells me all about her cases.” She sobers quickly. “It's terrible to think about what that poor boy must be going through.”

 

Terezi taps over and asks her sister what she's doing here.

 

“Oh!” Latula gasps. “I almost forgot!” She grabs her purse off Terezi's couch and rummages around inside of it for a moment. She pulls out a small tape and places it in Terezi's hands. “I need to give this back, thanks for lending it to me. Nepeta also called and said she wouldn't be around for the night and asked if I could come over and stay with you tonight.”

 

“Equius can really be a baby,” Terezi states, her fingers caressing the subtle bumps on the cassette.

 

Welp, she's in good hands. “I'll just go home,” you says, turning for the door.

 

However, before you can exit the apartment, you are accosted from behind by Terezi. She lays a peck on your cheek and your face goes up in flames.

 

“What the fuck was that for!?” you exclaim, wheeling around to face her. You look over to see Latula further in the apartment, petting Terezi's godforsaken dog.

 

Terezi's smile is sharp and cutting, slicing into you from her place above you. “For taking me to dinner!”

 

“It wasn't a date,” you mumble, your eyes sliding down to look at the floor. The blush that bloomed on your face is spreading to your neck and ears, warming your entire face.

 

“Well, how about tomorrow night?” Terezi asks, her smile never wavering.

 

You look at her hard, fake eyes and for some reason unbeknownst to your rational mind, you say yes.

 

She smiles and leans down to hug you. You awkwardly pat her back and make a fucking run from her vicinity. You run until you get to the bus stop. You sit in shock on the sticky bus seat. You walk into your apartment in shock. You stand in your living for fifteen minutes in shock before you look at your watch and see it is 9 o'clock.

 

You walk into your bedroom and take off your clothes. You tuck yourself in and try to sleep in vain. The ever-present inability to fall asleep haunts you as you contemplate your life decisions.

 

You hate Terezi and you don't hate Terezi. You feel animosity towards her and yet you find her as beautiful as you allowed yourself to find her sister. Her personality bounces everywhere, cracking and breaking everything she knocks against. Her sharp teeth and crooked smiles make your stomach clench and your face burn, both from distaste and fascination.

 

You roll over and look at your clock. When did it become 1 in the morning? Your eyes are wide open and burning with every slide of your eyelids. You blink, your eyes watering from the dryness and fatigue.

 

You think of her wild descriptions of color and sounds, how every sense flows into the other in a continuous cycle. When one sense is removed, the others accommodate. Her eyesight is gone, but it only took one way she perceived the world, making the others more acute.

 

You are frustrated with her vivid, nonsensical descriptions of the things she only remembers seeing, but, at the same time, you are captivated by them. She has taken something that would leave you bitter and resentful, and bettered herself.

 

You hate it. You hate her. You want to see her more. You want to know more about her.

 

You need to sleep.  


	6. More Heart than Brains: Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a playlist on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/covertcalligrapher/nervous-heart) in case you want to check it out. It's 20 songs I listen to while writing. If someone asks, I'll post a download link here and on my tumblr.

**More Heart Than Brains: 6**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and Karkat Vantas is flipping the fuck out.

 

The two of you are currently on a date. More precisely, the two of you are currently sitting on a park bench and eating. While on a date.

 

Karkat is flipping the fuck out for reasons unbeknownst to you. Perhaps he has found something wrong with his burrito and feels the need to proclaim his issues with the food stuff to all in the vicinity. Perhaps Karkat has discovered he has developed a soft spot for your faithful service animal, as you have deduced with your keen ears and insightful nose from the less-than-surreptitious dealings between the two, and is now attempting to find fault with the loving animal.

 

Or perhaps Karkat is just high-strung from a lifetime of high blood pressure in addition to a feeling of inadequacy and self-loathing.

 

“Goddammit,” Karkat shouts, probably louder than he meant to.

 

You turn your face from the warm, gray vapors of your food to the man radiating heat next to you. “What is it now?” you ask, a slight smile tugging on your lips.

 

“I forgot,” Karkat groans. The sound of his palm slapping against his forehead is heard. “My brother gets really antsy when I forget to call him.”

 

You roll your eyes at him, but it goes unnoticed behind your glasses. The action is also relatively impossible to achieve. “Karkat, we are on a _date_. Could you maybe put off calling your brother until it's over?”

 

You expect him to shout about how he takes family very seriously. You expect to get a reiteration of what he rasped at you earlier today; for you to stop being selfish, he only agreed to come with you because you need to learn how to work together.

 

You'd told him he walked with a slouch and needed to straighten up.

 

Instead, he tells you his over-sensitive brother can wait.

 

“So, you wanna talk about our childhoods, or something? Isn't that what people usually do on dates?” Karkat asks. You get a whiff of his shampoo which indicates to you that he turned his head away.

 

You snicker at his apprehension and awkwardness. “Have you never been on a date?”

 

His voice rises with indignation and anger, a loud splash of reds and hot golds. “It's been a while, okay! I don't really like the company of others so why would I subject myself to it?”

 

Your face is full-on splitting, a harsh smile pushing on your eyelids. “You don't need to get so defensive all the time! You can ask me anything and I'll answer it if I want to.”

 

You can hear Karkat's eyes rolling, his voice dripping with phony gratitude. “Oh, thank you, wise seer, for gracing me with your knowledge.”

 

“I only charge a quarter for my pearls of wisdom. I will also take credit cards.”

 

“Alright,” Karkat starts after a moment, his voice quieter and cooler, “let's try an easy one. How old's your sister?”

 

“She is 33.”

 

“Really? She looks younger.”

 

“I wouldn't know.”

 

“The sight jokes are really getting pretty fucking annoying!”

 

“Again, I also accept credit cards.”

 

You hear the air disperse as he blows a puff of ire-filled air from his lungs. The sound is followed by a harsh grating of hands dragging down skin, presumably his face. “Okay, how did you go blind?”

 

Your face closes a little bit, your smile shrinking slightly. You don't enjoy talking about the finer details of the last things you saw, especially not with someone you've only known for a short while. Even if you feel fascinated with the someone.

 

“I told you, I had an accident.”

 

“Well, how does that constitute the complete removal of your eyes from your skull?”

 

Your smile is gone now and your eyes are narrowed at the filled space you presume to be him. Lemon barks, most likely at a squirrel. “Glass and rocks and shit got inside them because me and my friends were dumb enough to try and blow up a mail box and. My eyes were completely cut up to the point where keeping them in was impossible. But hey, it stopped me from getting brain damage, which is a plus.”

 

Karkat is quiet for a moment before asking what happened to your friends.

 

You sigh and push your bangs off of your face. They fall back down almost immediately. “One died, but she got better. She really got the worst of it. My other friend broke his back and his current fiancee' lost one of her eyes and her hand.”

 

Karkat's silence is gray and tasteless. The air he expels is saturated with gray ash and smoke, the smell of wood burning. “How the fuck do you get better after dieing!?”

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are currently 12.

 

You love life. You love everything. Everything is going great for you right now. Your older sister is in college and you're home alone with your parents. You have friends who you actually like to hang around with. You and your best friend are two of the baddest bitches to walk the earth since the Cretaceous era.

 

Her name is Vriska Serket and you met her when your foster family moved in next to hers. You were attracted to the tall, violent girl ever since having your first conversation with her when the two of you were 5.

 

“Why are you hanging your toys off your tree house?” Vriska had asked from below you.

 

You'd looked away from your fervent knot-tying to the chubby blonde girl dressed entirely in blue. “They were found guilty! This is what happens to bad guys in my mom's dusty TV shows, so that's why they're here.”

 

 

She'd considered one of the toys dangling from the rudimentary knot you'd tied, studying it. “What are they guilty for?”

 

“I dunno yet. They're just guilty.”

 

“Oh.” Vriska paused, tugging one of the plush dragons.

 

You looked at her and then at your house where Latula was. Her room was on the top floor, across from yours. She was probably experimenting with makeup again or nagging “Mother” for a bra, which she absolutely did not need.

 

You look back at Vriska. “Wanna come and help?”

 

“ _Yes!”_

 

And the two of you have moved onto bigger and better things.

 

You have assimilated two more people into your group, one of which Vriska has the largest crush on. He's a sweet kid, but Vriska will fucking wreck him if they get close. His friend Aradia is a sweetheart, always protecting Tavros when Vriska gets to be too big of a bitch. Her obsession with dead things is starting to freak you out slightly, though.

 

You are currently pushing the limit on the law's toleration of your shenanigans.

 

It went something like this:

 

Vriska: Hey Terezi, I got a shit ton of fireworks from Feferi's sister, wanna go blow shit up?

 

You: Why would you even ask?!

 

Vriska: Well, maybe we should go call Peter Pan and Megido.

 

You: I don't know, Tavros gets _really_ uncomfortable whenever we involve him in stuff like this.

 

Vriska: Well, he'll finally grow a pair and become a man. A man that can handle all _this._

 

You: Vriska, Tavros can't even tie his shoes properly.

 

Vriska: Too bad, already called him.

 

You: Dammit Vriska, he's gonna pee his pants when they go off.

 

Vriska: It'll be _woooooooonderful!_

 

It is now currently going something like this:

 

You: Shit, who's gonna do it?

 

Vriska: Hell no, don't look at me like that, Tavros.

 

You: I'm not gonna do it.

 

Vriska: You guys are a bunch of babies.

 

Aradia: Vriska, you do it. Prove how much of a badass you are!

 

Tavros: Do we really have to be doing this?

 

Vriska: Alright, Tavros is gonna do it.

 

Tavros: I don't want to.

 

Vriska: Too bad! Oh, stop shaking your head and get out there. Here, use these to light them and then run back.

 

Aradia: Vriska, don't push him!

 

Vriska: I do what I want, Megido.

 

You: Guys shoosh, Tavros is gonna do it.

 

Vriska: And there he goes. Looking good, kid! Okay, great, now just run back! Wait, shit, stop!

 

Aradia: Tavros!

 

You: Aradia, no!

 

Vriska: Shit, Tavros, get up!

 

Tavros: I think I broke my ankle!

 

Aradia: I've got you, Tav.

 

You: Get d--!

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are 27, on a date, and cannot see anything.

 

“They revived her at the hospital, but there was severe brain damage. She went into a coma for a year before someone pulled her plug. I shocked her awake, and she's been staying in a facility ever since.”

 

“Do you ever go to see her?”

 

You shrug, the warm, golden scents of your food no longer appealing to you. “I can't see anything.”

 

“Fuck you, you know what I meant.”

 

A smile tugs at your face. “Yeah, I did! I do, I still go to visit her. I think she likes it when I visit, though she doesn't really talk much anymore.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“Alright?”

 

“ _Alright.”_

 

“I don't feel alright.”

 

“Well, that's because you're fucking insane, but fuck it.”

 

“Karkat, I'm going to sick my dog on you.”

 

“She's barking up a tree right now.”

 

“Was that a joke?”

 

“Was it funny?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then, no. It was not.”

 

–

 

You call Lemon over to you and the sound of grass being compressed under her weight is familiar and calming to your frayed nerves.

 

Karkat is sweet, like candy, though he doesn't let anyone see it. He's sweeter than the cherry candies you'd broken your teeth over as a child and twice as red. His whole personality is pulsing crimson, from sweet to angry to empathetic all in one fluid being.

 

“So, it's only, like, eight. Want to do anything?” Karkat asks, your arms looped together.

 

“I'd say we could be really stereotypical and see a movie, but that'd be a bit difficult.”

 

“You're a master of human comedy and wit,” Karkat deadpans.

 

You smile, a laugh slipping easily from your lips. You enjoy being around this cherry man. “Maybe I can take Lemon home and you can walk me around?”

 

You can almost hear the blood vessels in Karkat's face dilating as blood pools there. “Well, then why don't you just stay at your house for the night, I mean don't you need her to get around?”

 

“No, she's just very helpful. I can get around perfectly fine with my cane and someone to stop me from wandering blithely into traffic.”

 

“What makes you think I'll stop you?”

 

You grin and attempt to place a peck on his cheek but kiss his ear instead. “I'm important to John!”

 

Karkat's face grows hotter, the radiating heat fanning out to you. “Was it really necessary to your continued existence that you do that?”

 

“Extremely.” You tug on Lemon's bar to get to her to stop. She does. “Karkat, where are we right now?”

 

You feel him look around, hear the slide of cloth on cloth. “Uh, well. I think we're at 21st street. Corner of Walsh Ave.”

 

“Great, if we go west from here we can get to my apartment.”

 

Karkat is about to rebel, maybe release his hooked arm, but you've already latched onto him and told lemon to go home.

 

It takes you maybe 10 minutes of walking, rapping Karkat with your cane when he gets unruly, and happy barks and pants from Lemon before you reach your residence. You release her inside and tell her not to chew the furniture, to which she responds with a coy bark.

 

You leave, taking Karkat with you.

 

“Alright, alright, time to slow the fuck down!” Karkat screeches once you've tugged him sufficiently far from your house. You know precisely where you're going, having devoted many hours to mapping out the city. If there was a new pebble in the street, you'd know about it.

 

You stop and he lunges forward, inertia truly playing cruel jokes on the poor, small man. “Something wrong, Karkat?”

 

“I think you're kidnapping me but I'm not quite sure,” he says as he straightens himself, his voice gruff.

 

You grin, your lips pulling tightly over your teeth. “How can you allow yourself to be kidnapped by a blind girl?”

 

“Jesus _fuck_ , stop drawing attention to it,” Karkat groans, his voice tense, angry.

 

You turn your head towards the vibrations of his voice. “To _what_?”

 

“Being blind. It's not funny so stop trying to make a joke out of it.”

 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe I'm just trying to put you at ease, because you seem like you're about snap at any given moment.”

 

“Look, not everything is a goddamn joke, Terezi!”

 

You let go of him, not quite enraged, but extremely pissed off. You've had to deal with him pissing and moaning the entire day, and then he lectured you on how important it is for the two of you to get along, and then _he pisses and moans about it even more._

 

You swing your cane in a roundabout manner, the hard titanium cracking against his chest. He curses in pain and you begin to speak. “Karkat, I am extending an olive branch of peace to you. Every time thus far, you have not only taken it, but snapped it up, crushed it into wood chips and then set the chipped remains on _fire_. Now get the fuck up, and let's go do _something_.”

 

Karkat is silent for a long time, something you learn does not happen often. The sounds of your breathing and the occasional car passing by are the only things in the area.

 

Then, Karkat speaks.

 

“We could go get drunk.”

 

Your mouth twitches up into a small smile. “How drunk?”

 

“Drunk enough to not feel my broken sternum.”

 

“Alright, sounds like a plan.”

 

–

 

Karkat leads the way.

 

He brings you to a bar you presume he crawls to whenever he feels small. It smells smoky inside, the warmth from the inside of the building seeping out of the door. You detect the aroma of wood and liquor and depression.

 

You've smelled the same depression and smoke on Karkat. He must come here often.

 

He sits you down and asks you if you've ever actually gotten _drunk_ before.

 

“Of course, Jesus Christ.”

 

“Just checking. Fuck, why am I even, we're not even going to remember this tomorrow.”

 

And after a few drinks of something that you are sure is 90% fire, you don't really think you're going to even remember your _name_ tomorrow.

 

“Alright,” you drawl after taking a shot. You shake your head a few times, trying to untangle your thoughts. “Your brother. What's he like?”

 

You hear Karkat groan, though he can't possibly be as gone as you are. Not yet at least. “My brother is a self-absorbed asshole who enjoys the sound of his own voice far too much,” Karkat says slowly, his voice thick.

 

“No, no, _no,_ what was he like when you two were little?” you explain, your hands gesturing for emphasis.

 

“Pretty much the same as he is now. Fuck, I'm not drunk enough for this,” Karkat groans and you hear liquid begin dumped haphazardly into a glass.

 

“Well, just how drunk do you have to be?” you ask and then you're laughing. _God_ , you sound stupid. Your voice is muffled in your ears and your nose a little stuffed. Your laughter is hiccupping and stuttering. You're almost doubled over, banging the counter of the bar. Silverware and glass rattle with the vibrations your hand sends out.

 

 

“I don't really get _drunk_ anymore,” he says, voice a little small. Then he apparently appraises your inebriated state. “Shit, you're gone. You didn't even have that many!” Karkat's angry now. Then again, he's always angry. Forever disenchanted to the world, he walks, cursing and shouting at anything that angers him.

 

Which is pretty much anything.

 

“W- _eeeeeell_ ,” you slur, your mouth opening easily. Your jaw is loose. “By the sound of your foot steps and the fact that it's hard to get my arms around your shoulders, _I'd say_ that I'm about 60 pounds smaller than you are.”

 

“How the _fuck_ could you tell that.”

 

“I'm good at being blind.”

 

“Goddammit.”

 

You lean closer, groping for your glass and hoping there's more . Karkat presses the cool glass into your palm, his hand warm. You mumble your gratitude and swallow the molten liquid.

 

You slide your hand along the counter and come across something hard and warm. He jerks his hand away and you retract yours, sullen and suddenly small.

 

“Well, now it's your turn to ask,” you say quietly.

 

Karkat coughs, trying to expel the awkwardness. “Fuck, okay. I'm just not a really, touchy person, alright? Jesus Christ, it's not you, I like you and everything, it's just people don't like me.”

 

“I'm pretty okay with you,” you say, a smile pulling your lips.

 

“Well, let's just not get carried away. We should stay professional.”

 

You don't respond to that, but instead repeat that it's his turn to ask you a question.

 

“Fuck, let me think for a second.” There's a small pause where only the sounds and smells of liquor can be heard. “Okay, I asked you earlier about your accident. What exactly happened?”

 

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “Fuck, I don't wanna talk about it.”

 

“I could tell you something equally as traumatic that happened to me,” Karkat offers, his tone surprisingly diplomatic.

 

You consider his offer for a moment before asking what _he_ has to offer.

 

“Well, I could tell you about my best friend, or about my dad and how emotionally scarring both of those events were.”

 

Ahh, yes, his friend and his father. Hopefully, they are not the same person. Fuck, did you really just think that? Shit, you're tripping over your thoughts already. “Okay, it's a deal,” you say as you offer your hand to him.

 

He grabs it from your right, sealing the deal.

 

“Okay,” you start, trying to get your thoughts in order. “I had--, well, _have_ , but we're not as close. I have a friend. Me and her were like sisters. Considering we didn't really like ours, it was good for us.”

 

“You and your sister get along fine.”

 

“We're six years apart, that was a lot when we were growing up.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Now shut up, I'm telling you my life's story.” You take a deep breath and compose the swirling, dull pictures in your mind. “Her name is Vriska Serket, and we got into a lot of shit together. We met when we were 5 and ever since then, we were inseparable. And then, when we were 10, we met these two kids named Aradia and Tavros. Aradia was sweet, sugary and cheerful. Tavros was a bit of a Mary, though by no means a coward. He just had self-esteem issues, those of which Vriska did not make any better.

 

“Now, Vriska's older sister was friends with, or in a relationship with, I don't really know I was 12 and still used a training bra. What the fuck did I know about relationships then> Shit, she was “friends” with the older sister of one _our_ friends who really had no qualms about giving highly explosive fireworks to 12-year-olds. And we didn't care, we liked Meenah. She was cool and dangerous and we were awkward not-yet-teenagers.

 

“Vriska and I took the fireworks and called Tavros and Aradia, told them we were gonna blow shit up. They really didn't want to come, but Tavros had this weird crush/relationship with Vriska, and was afraid of her. So they came along, Aradia following Tavros to protect him or something. So we went into this forest thing I had behind my house and followed it to the back, where the next street over started.

 

“We found a mailbox that was really pretentious; it was shaped like the house it was meant for, and who even fucking does that? It was really nice too, made out of glass and wood and pieces of rock. Go figure, that's what completely took us out.” You take a deep breath and expel it. You grope for your glass and find it empty. You pout and hold it out to Karkat. He takes it gently from your grasp and places it softly on the counter.

 

“Fine. Anyway, we were trying decide which of us would go over to light the fireworks, and Tavros was elected. He ran over, lit them with Vriska's matches and ran back. However, Tavros was a klutz. By some force of nature, he managed to trip over something in the street, breaking his ankle.

 

“Well, Aradia ran over to try to get him up, but she was small and had trouble lifting him. She's about to get him up when Vriska starts to run over and then the mailbox exploded and shrapnel flew everywhere. Really, the last thing I remember was the fire jetting forward and then something hitting me in the face.”

 

Karkat speaks almost immediately. “I don't want to say that was a dumb-fucking thing to do, but it was a dumb-fucking thing to do.”

 

“I know it was, and I've dealt with it. But I just stood there while Tavros was on the ground and my friends ran towards him to stop him from dieing. Really, I got the least of it. Losing my eyes isn’t really as bad as what happened to them.” You don't want to cry, you want to tear your hair out. You want Karkat to tell you were wrong, you should have helped your friends, you shouldn't have been such a dumb shit and killed your friends.

 

Instead, he's sympathetic. “I'm not gonna say it wasn't your fault, because it partially was,” he says, and you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. He's impossibly warm, maybe he's on fire? Redder than you thought, and twice as sweet. You grab a hold of his hand.

 

You pull yourself onto your feet and drape yourself over him, sighing deeply through your nose. You're sad and angry and _smashed_. This is why you don't drink, it makes you remember how small and stupid you were, are, and will be.

 

 

Karkat doesn't throw you off. He awkwardly pats your back with one hand while trying to prop you up so the both of you don't just fall over. “You said your friend died?”

 

“Yeah,” you mutter as you bury your face in the shoulder of his leather jacket. “Aradia. She's at the Forest View Mental Facility now.” Karkat starts when you say this. You do not pursue it. “She got hit in the head with a rock, took off part of her head. She went into a coma for a year and hasn't really been the same since.” You laugh, short and bitter. “She's moved off her obsession with dead things and onto an obsession with frogs.”

 

“Frogs?” He asks, still patting your back.

 

“Yeah, some societies see them as bringers of sickness and _doom_ , while others hail them as signs of rebirth. Or something, it's hard to remember.” You're still pressing yourself to his jacket. The scent of leather, smoke, and liquor float off of him. “And before you ask, Vriska lost her last two finger on her left hand and her left eye. Tavros broke his back and has no motor function in his legs.”

 

“How is being blind better than not being able to walk?” Karkat asks, the phrase incredulous.

 

You push yourself off of him. You stand in front of him, your hands gripping his shoulders. “I am capable of making my own decisions, which is more than Aradia can say. I can competently hold something and not have phantom pains, which is more than Vriska can say. I can _stand_ , which is more than Tavros can say. I didn't die, I was a coward, I was a dumb kid who broke her eyes and paid the price. Fuck,” you finish as you attempt to sit on his lap.

 

“Maybe you're not so drunk after all,” Karkat muses, his hands awkwardly attempting to find a place to settle. They decide your knees are appropriate.

 

“No, I'm not even going to remember how to talk tomorrow. This is how I get. Quizzical and wondering why the fuck my life has turned like this,” you huff, propping your head up with the heel of your hand.

 

“I lost control of my life years ago, join the party,” Karkat grumbles.

 

You lean over and lean back on the bar. “Okay, now it's _your_ turn. What happened to your family?”

 

You hear Karkat sigh and run a hand through his hair. “Well, I don't think I can top blowing your eyes out of your skull, but hey. I've been inadequate my entire life, so why complain about it now?”

 

“Oh yeah, my parents also died a month after I was born.”

 

“My dad died when I was 13.”

 

“That's rough, buddy.”

 

Karkat actually laughs at this, and you can't help but giggle too. The situation is completely terrible, you're laughing about having dead parents. However, it's just the absolute absurdity that the two of you are finding common ground on dead parents that's just completely and horribly hilarious.

 

His laugh is harsh and grating, like two knives being rubbed together. It's just as sharp and gray as the rest of his exterior.

 

“So, when I was 13, I was friends with a boy named Gamzee who I met when I was younger. We were really close, and my dad was just so god-fucking annoying sometimes, I would just stay at Gamzee's house for days. His dad wasn't really there too often, so it was just him and his brother. Whatever, I was there and took care of Gamzee.

 

“So one day, I had this huge fucking fight with my dad and stormed off to Gamzee's house. I had my alarm clock set to go off at 7 AM so I could get up and not be a dumb fuck and be late to school, but I forgot to turn it off before I left. We had piping issues in my house, and there was slow-building gas leak. Overnight, it built up and built up, my dad probably passed out from lack of oxygen while sleeping, and then, when it hit 7 AM, the spark caused by the alarm clock triggering the actual alarm, ignited the gas-filled air. It effectively burned my house down and killed my father.”

 

You're silent, the casual way he tells the immolation of his father extremely sobering.

 

“Kankri was in college at that point, so he obviously didn't die.” His tone is sullen and resigned.

 

“Karkat, you didn't kill him. If you had stayed in the house, you would have died too,” you say, groping about for his head. You settle for his right ear and you pat it clumsily.

 

“If I had taken my fucking alarm clock with me or turned it off, I probably would have come home in time to get him out of the house.”

 

“You can't know that.”

 

“But that doesn't stalp-- _fucking_ _stop_ it from being _possible_. Stop touching me.”

 

“Karkat, you can't blame yourself for an accident.”

 

“Why not, you seem to do it quite well.”

 

You're quiet. After a moment, you decide to punch him in the shoulder, your fist halfheartedly pounding the brown-scented leather. “You're an asshole.”

 

“You're picking up on that just now? Shit, I thought you were supposed to be a goddamn genius,” Karkat replies lazily. He gives a rough shove to your fist and pushes it off of himself. You feel him rummage around in his pocket and something clicks a few times. Probably his phone.

 

“I am ex- _tremely_ intelligent. I just didn't think you'd be this much of a dick on a _date_.”

 

“It's after 12. Fuck, we've been here for four hours.”

 

“Still a dick.”

 

“This isn't a date. This is purely to become better acquainted so we can more adequately refrain from looking like _assholes_.”

 

“This is a date. I am sitting on you, we got drunk together, don't tell me this isn't a goddamned date.” He's so fucking _infuriating._ He admitted to enjoying your company but he keeps pushing back. Granted, your relationship is relatively new; you have only known of the others existence for two weeks. Two weeks ago, you met John. On week ago, John was sentenced to be tried as an adult.

 

“Fuck, why are you even sitting on me?” He makes no attempt to shove you off.

 

You grin, lazy and thick. “You still didn't tell me about what happened to your friend.”

 

“No, fuck you. It was one or the other, you chose father.” Karkat is cantankerous and hilarious in his implacable hatred.

 

“Okay, fine. Latula fell off a swing-set when she was 13 and hasn't been able to smell anything ever since. “

 

“You mentioned that already, I think.”

 

“Did not.”

 

“Whatever, that's not so bad. She can't tell how shitty everything is, then.”

 

Your quirk your mouth the side, your eyes narrowing. “She can't taste food.”

 

You hear a sound of strangled horror from Karkat. “Shit, like _anything_?”

 

“Well, like, it's impaired. Food doesn't taste as good as it used too. She says everything smells cold.”

 

“How the fuck does anything smell cold.”

 

“You know, I guess it smells spicy and tight, like it makes your nose pinch on the inside.”

 

“And how is this supposed to be getting me to divulge more of my life story?”

 

You lean further in and drape your arms around his shoulders. You guess the smokey-sweet smell of him could be cologne, or maybe his soap? “Well, it kinda set her and I apart for a while. I felt different than her, and when I went blind, I guess it kinda made me feel more on level with her. I don't miss my eyesight, I just regret that it happened. You know?”

 

You do not think he does. “No, that's stupid and your feelings are stupid and wrong.”

 

“This is abuse.”

 

“Then why are you still here.”

 

“I do not think I can make it home properly.”

 

“Shit, again. I'm not drunk enough for this.”

 

You sigh, exasperated. “Karkat, stop beating around the bush and just _tell me_. This is how we're going to get to know each other better.”

 

“Goddammit, fine. My friend Gamzee, yeah Gamzee, the one I was with while my father was being burned alive? A short while after my father died, he developed schizophrenia. I had to move in with Kankri in his townhouse and we lived off my father's life insurance and home insurance until I could go to college. I wasn't there for Gamzee, and then about two years after his mind rotted, and he freaked out and tried to kill himself. Then, he turned to drugs. Not like, shitty pot that everyone does when they're kids, I'm talking hard shit. Like heroin, that was his favourite. It kept the voices down, drowned out his brain, kept him from being so angry all the fucking time.”

 

His voice is tight and hard; angry and rough. He speaks knives and toothpicks. His words are harsh and cutting as well as small and dull.

 

You lay your head on his neck, hear his heart thud through his shirt. He tenses at the action, but you're growing more tired and don't care how uncomfortable he feels right this second. You feel great laying on this wide, burning, cherry-red man.

 

He begins a maladroit rubbing of your back, his hands going in choppy circular motions. “You know what's fucking _fantastic_ , though? He's currently being treated and housed at Forest View crazy camp.”

 

As an after thought, he adds, “I need to visit him.”

 

–

 

He takes you home shortly after that. The both of you are tired and you want to kiss him, but you don't think he wants to kiss you. You feel like you're twelve again, bumbling and fumbling around, groping for information that _yes, he_ _ **like-likes**_ _you._

 

He walks you to your front door and opens it for you. Nepeta is sitting up inside, tapping away on her laptop.

 

“Hey, Terezi! I waited up for you-- shit, you smell like alcohol,” Nepeta says with great energy.

 

“Nepeta, can you leave us alone for a bit? I just wanna talk to Karkat before he goes,” you ask, your fake eyes too big for your head and your ears too hollow.

 

She says okay and you hear her bound away and a door close.

 

You turn around to Karkat, but before you can say anything, his lips are on yours. It's soft and slight and his lips are on fire. You reach out and put your hands on his chest, slide them up and grip his shoulders.

 

 

He's shorter than you. You tilt your head down slightly to make it more comfortable, though you two really aren't kissing. No one's moving, your lips are just lightly pressed against each other. His hands are on your hips and pulls you a little closer, your cane stuck awkwardly between your bodies.

 

You press a little harder and open your mouth slightly.

 

He pulls away.

 

You curse and tell him to come back.

 

He says he got you before you could get him.

 

“Well, we could probably try again,” you say, closing the new distance between the two of you.

 

“Fuck no, I've got shit to do tomorrow,” is his reply.

 

You grin, wide and bright. “Well, maybe we can do this again sometime.”

 

“I'll call you tomorrow, Terezi.”

 

And he leaves. He leaves and as soon as the door is shut you scream Nepeta over.

 

You tell her what happened and she screams with you. Your head hurts and you're drunk and Karkat kissed you. It was a pitiful excuse for a kiss, but he initiated it and you are hooked. You were enthralled with the fervent, red man and he seems to reciprocate your warm, soft emotions.

 

You go to sleep that night and dream of what it was like to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was fun.


	7. More Heart than Brains: Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Still have a playlist on 8tracks.](http://8tracks.com/covertcalligrapher/nervous-heart)

**More Heart than Brains: 7**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you can't believe you kissed the girl.

 

You went to bed that night with feelings of accomplishment and elation and woke up with a headache. A headache that could only be tamed through the repeated, violent meetings of your hand to your face.

 

Even after slapping yourself in the head for an hour, you still feel like a complete fuck-up.

 

A fuck up with a girl who wanted to talk to him. A fuck up with a girl who obviously enjoys his company. A fuck up with an insane blind girl who makes his stomach clench uncomfortably and his ears burn.

 

It was more than a month ago that you went out and got drunk with the sharp prosecutor known as Terezi Pyrope. Since that slightly hazy night, you have gone on many more outings together, some as mundane as sitting together quietly to review for the Nth time the workings of John's case, some as loud and clamorous as the time she took you to a club after a day of talking to John and the prosecutor working for The People on his case.

 

Two of those outings are what you have allowed to be called dates. On the first of the two, Terezi invited you into her apartment. Frightened of what might happen to you when the door to the flat closed, you had made it expressly clear to her that you wanted to remain professional.

 

“Fuck being professional,” she'd proclaimed, grasping your hand and dragging you towards her couch. She sits down and pulls you on top of her.

 

You'd scrambled to sit next to her and she's smiling at you. The laughter that bubbled from her throat was harsher than her others, more unrestrained and louder.

 

She'd continued to smile at the frown she couldn't see and leaned forward to grope around on her coffee table. She retracted her hand with a DVD case in grasp. She handed it to you.

 

“Terezi, you can't even fucking see, why would you have a movie--?” you said, looking at the DVD. Then, “ _HOLY FUCK IT'S 50 FIRST DATES WERE ARE WATCHING THIS RIGHT NOW_ ,” you'd exclaimed after closer examination of the plastic cover.

 

You'd looked at her grinning face and asked her how she even got this. She'd shrugged and said, “Sollux gave it to me and told me it was one of your favourites.”

 

“Damn straight, it's the best fuckin' movie this side of the Earth,” you'd said as you got up to play the movie. You curse Sollux for telling her of your fine taste in movies that most say is shitty. You also thank God that Sollux told her and gave her the movie.

 

You'd watched it together, and she'd asked you to describe the scenes, what was happening. Despite the insane and hilarious antics going on on the screen, you felt warm and in knots. Her hand was laced with yours and you couldn't tell if you wanted to go more slowly with this or if you if it was going too slowly already.

 

At the end of the night, you'd kissed her. She'd opened her mouth and you let her. You'd left for home shortly after and jumped in the shower as soon as you were pass the threshold. The icy water felt so cold it was burning your skin. You'd climbed out of the shower with extreme frost burns and contemplated calling a trauma surgeon to amputate your frostbitten limbs.

 

You'd decided to call Sollux instead.

 

The second outing you'd allowed to be described as a date, you'd brought her to dinner. Afterward, she suggested you go back to your apartment and for the ever-loving fuck, you do not know why you did. You hate her and yet you don't think the clenching in your gut is hate. You hate her but you'd kissed her and she'd kissed you.

 

You'd let her and you're terrified and ecstatic at the same time.

 

At your apartment, you'd brought out something from your extensive liquor “collection” and shared some with her. You felt pretty alright about drinking with her; it was much better to watch her get more and more ridiculous than to pour yourself into a glass. After about 8 minutes and one glass of something old and wonderful, she asked if she could see you.

 

“You must either be stupid or completely unable to hold anything that is not grape juice,” you'd said, clearly enunciating each syllable for her obviously impaired brain.

 

She'd giggled. She pushed out words between her spasms that could be considered intelligible speech. “I want to feel your face. Find out how you _look,_ ” she'd laughed out, waving her hands in front of your face.

 

You'd considered telling her to fuck off, but you enjoyed the idea of her getting to know your face. You might not be satisfied with the way you look, but perhaps the blind girl would be.

 

“Fuck it, why not.” You scooted your stool closer to her and she'd leaned forward.

 

Her hands were soft and not hard pressing, not at least after the initial contact. She dragged them down the sides, grasping at the shape of your face. Her fingers glided along your cheekbones and slid down your nose. She brought them up and her fingers pressed lightly against your eyes. Bursts of fake colors exploded behind your eyes and quickly fizzled away.

 

You'd cracked your eyes to she hers are open. Well, she doesn't have eyes, but the spheres of plastic were only half visible. Her eyes were half-open, and her eyelids slid as she blinked slowly, her fingers still dancing on your face.

 

She reached your chin, her thumbs gently caressing your lips. The feather-light touches made your face heat and shivers run down your spine. You'd reached out and pressed your lips to hers and she pressed back happily. Her mouth moved with yours, hungry for your overheated lips. She felt cool to the touch and her tongue pulled along your bottom lip as she sucked it into her mouth.

 

That was a good night. Nepeta had picked her up at around 1-in-the-morning and you'd gone to sleep without thinking of anything. You think you'd dreamed of her and how she _was,_ but dreams are hard to remember.

 

And the second date was a week ago. Since then, Terezi has kept you and John filled on his case. She went to a pretrial hearing with the prosecutor to battle it out over what will be admitted as evidence and what will not.

Where you are currently, is in the courtroom. You are witnessing the true beginning of John's trial and you fear his mental-state is not up to this.

 

The prosecution gives their opening statement. It is not mean; the city has an obligation to uphold the law no matter who the culprit and victim. The city will see that the victim's killer is brough to justice and show that the law has far-reaching juristiction.

 

Terezi's opening statement is less righteous and more crazy.

 

“The defense aims to show that the defendant is not guilty of murder. Rather, it is an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's just a young boy who got caught trying to help someone, and the defense is going to demonstrate it.”

 

You hold your head in your hands. John is _fucked._

 

After the opening statements, the prosecution begins. He holds up a plastic bag with what appears to be a bloodied knife inside of it. “What you are looking at is what has been marked as Exhibit A.” He turns to show the jury, then to john. “Have you seen this before?”

 

John looks pale, but remains calm. He looks puzzled for a moment, before realizing that he has indeed seen the knife before. “Yeah, that's the knife I found inside the woman in the alley.”

 

The prosecutor nods and asks that the item be moved to evidence. The judge asks for any objections.

 

There are none.

 

It is moved into evidence. The same happens to the chat logs they ripped off the client's stores, the clothes that were bagged when he was apprehended, and the video tape from the cafe that clearly shows the victim and then John, entering the alley.

 

Then begins the questioning. “How old are you, John?”

 

John replies readily. “I am 13, sir.”

 

The questioning proceeds as such until John is asked to describe what occurred that day. It starts off well enough, but soon takes a turn for the worse.

 

“Well, I was on my way home when I decided to stop off at a store to get a drink. When I was walking out, I heard some people fighting down the alley next to the store. So when I looked inside, I saw this _man_ who's been following me--” John pauses here to take a deep breath, composing himself.

 

You're extremely worried about him. His voice wavers as he continues and you see Terezi clench her cane tightly. “I don't remember running into the alley, but the first thing I remember after seeing _him_ is seeing a woman on the ground with a knife sticking up inside of her and there were cuts _all over_ her.”

 

He's shaking slightly, despite having told this story over and over again. Mr Egbert is sitting next to you and clenching the railing in front of you with extreme urgency. You fear he'll split the wood. You can't see Jane, but you know she's probably wringing her hands over John, maybe worrying her lip.

 

The prosecutor is not unkind. He asks that John please take all the time he needs to continue. John nods and swallows, speaking quietly into the microphone. “I tried to help her, so I pulled the knife out and tried to press my hands to the holes, but there were too many of them and blood just kept pouring out.” John takes another breath and straightens up. “Someone saw and called the police, and that's pretty much what happened.”

 

The prosecutor nods. “Now, back to this man,” he begins. He holds up a sketch of what John said Jack looked like. He seemed very normal, save for the eye-patch that, rather comically, covered part of his face. “I am showing you what has been marked as Exhibit D, do you recognize it?”

 

“Yes, it's the sketch they took of Jack at the police station,” John replies, seemingly wondering where this line of questioning is going.

 

The prosecution asks that it be moved to evidence and it is. “Now, John. About this man, if you saw him in the alley, where is he?”

 

Terezi raises an objection. When asked on what grounds, she replies that John's mental state and credibility is being attacked. The objection is sustained and the prosecution rephrases.

 

“Alright, who is this man?”

 

“I don't know, I've been noticing him for a while now. Really, ever since I turned thirteen a few months ago.

 

John describes how him and his friends dubbed him “Jack Noir,” because Jack Black was already taken. The glances he's caught of him, the nervousness, the anxiety, the worrying.

 

Soon enough, John is handed over to Terezi.

 

Terezi stands, tall and sharp in her suit. Her cane glides over the floor as she taps her way along, pacing back and forth along the fence. “John, would you be so kind as to relate for me your relationship to the victim?”

 

 

John looks puzzled before answering, “I didn't know her at all, ma'am.”

 

Terezi nods her head, still pacing. “And why did you attempt to help her if you did not know her?”

 

“A woman was lying on the ground with a knife sticking out of her. I couldn't just leave her there.”

 

Terezi smiles. “Thank you, John. Now, the charges that were read at the beginning of this trial stated that you were up for murder in the 2nd degree. Do you understand what that means?”

 

John answers immediately. “Yes, I was told at the station where I was taken in. It means the direct, unplanned murder of a person.”

 

“Correct,” Terezi says, smiling again. Where is she going with this? “Now the motive given at the beginning of this trial was psychosis-induced panic attack that lead to you attacking the victim, Regina Nigera. What are your thoughts on this?”

 

The prosecution calls their objection to her statement, saying that it is of little relevance.

 

“What could be more relevant than the opinion of the defense on the charges filed against him?” Terezi asks, facing the prosecutor and then the judge. The judge allows it, but tells Ms. Pyrope to tread carefully.

 

John thinks it isn't fair to assume he killed her even though he was the only person in the vicinity. It's not fair that just because he started carrying around a pocket knife that the police assumed he used his to kill her. John had never seen that knife before, and even though it looked a lot like his, it wasn't.

 

As time wears on, you begin to realize that court is boring as fuck. John is brought off the stand and a new person, the coroner is brought up. She identifies the crime scene photos and the autopsy report for evidence and she is brought back off the stand and replaced with John.

 

This is where everything goes wrong. John is showed the photos and he just loses it. That's a lot of blood, did he really look like that. Oh my God, I'm covered in blood, why didn't anyone show me these before. How many stab wounds did she have? _Twelve? You think I stabbed a woman twelve times?_

 

It's all going really terribly until John just breaks down. He can't handle it, and you didn't think he would be able to; video game graphics are a lot different than what happens in real life.

 

The judge beats the desk with the gavel and calls that court is out for the day, the defense needs to collect itself. Everyone gets the fuck out of the stuffy court room, John is released to his father and brought home straight away. You have a word with his father before he absconds with his children before you are accosted by Terezi.

 

She's smiling, but thankfully refraining from any public displays of affection. Nepeta is next to her, smiling and holding a stack of papers. Lemon rubs her face on your leg and you try to not be openly disgusted by the animal.

 

“That could have gone better,” you murmur, your hands deep in your pockets. You shake your leg to discourage the dog. She returns with greater affection than before.

 

Terezi's smile does not waver as you walk with her to her car, Nepeta leading the way. “That could have gone much worse,” she states, her arm looped around yours.

 

You sigh and run a hand down your face. “Wanna come to my place tonight?”

 

Her smile broadens and her face lights up. “Is this a date, sir?”

 

“Of course it is, _I_ am extending the offer, therefore it is a date.” You open the door to the car for her. She allows her dog to scramble in and glide to the back before she gets in.

 

“Typical. Do you need a ride home?” she asks. Nepeta wiggles her eyebrows and pats the console of the car.

 

You look away from what was probably Nepeta trying to tell you you will be kidnapped and tell Terezi the two of you should probably just get your shit together for a while.

 

She says okay before asking what time to come over. “Eight sounds fine,” you respond. She leans up and presses her lips you the space right below your eye. You assume she meant to hit your lips but missed.

 

You blush and tell her to get lost, you'll see her at eight. She laughs and closes the door, blowing a kiss to the space next to you through the glass.

 

You walk home, alone with your fretting thoughts. Trial today was both nerve-wracking and boring. You didn't think that could be a possible combination of adjectives, but it was managed. Inside your apartment, your brother awaits you.

 

You open the door, see him sitting at your kitchen table, and then close the door. You stand outside the apartment and take a deep breath to compose yourself. Before you can muster the energy to open the door and face your family, he opens the door for you.

 

He's standing there, he takes a breath, and you put your hand over his mouth. “Don't say anything, I had a long day.”

 

He gently removes your hand and guides you into your apartment, “Karkat, it's only 5, the day hasn't even ended yet.”

 

He places you on your couch. “Kankri, you don't even _know_ what court was like. I have never been so angry and bored at the same time.”

 

He raises an eyebrow at you and begins to discuss his day. You can't tell if he's trying to take your mind off the case or if he just really enjoyed telling you how wonderful it is to teach social studies. You think Sollux called him and told him to get his ass over here. Either way, it passes the time until you notice the clock has hit 7:30.

 

“Kankri,” you say, interrupting his latest sermon. “Terezi's gonna be here at 8 and you can't be here.”

 

“Are you ashamed of me, then?” Kankri asks, and you wouldn't be able to tell if he was serious had you not been around him your entire life.

 

“Yes, I am extremely ashamed of you. Now get out before she gets here,” you say, grabbing his coat and handing it to him.

 

“Well,” Kankri pushes out as you press him towards the doorway. “What were you planning on feeding this girl?”

 

You attempt to put his jacket on for him. “I was going to order food, most likely Chinese. Now, please leave so I can air out the apartment.”

 

Kankri just shrugs off your attempts to dress him and moves back into your living space. He sits down on the dining chair you found him in and pulls one out for you. “You know I like egg rolls.”

 

–

 

Terezi arrives promptly at 8. No less than a moment after the clock at switched is there a knock on your door and a bark to signify the arrival of the blind lawyer and her canine unit.

 

You answer the door and she leans in to give you a peck. She actually manages to hit your lips for once and she says she's getting better. She asks you what you're going to do and you say you guess you could try playing a game again- it sure was fun trying to play pictionary with her, Nepeta, and Sollux.

 

She laughs and tells Lemon to make herself at home. You whisper a soft sentence of hatred to the animal and she just wags her tail at you.

 

Kankri has yet to say anything. Terezi shrugs off her jacket and hangs it herself on your coat rack. She really is getting better. “So, Karkat, are we going to do anything aside from point out how my artistic abilities are still better than yours?”

 

“I've been waiting to meet you, Ms. Pyrope!” Kankri interjects before you can suggest leaving your apartment and never coming back.

 

Terezi's smiling, and she holds her hand out in front of her, her cane clasped in her other hand. Kakri approaches and shakes. “You must be Kankri! You sound like your brother, though not as gravelly.”

 

Kankri smiles, releasing her hand. “Yes, Karkat screamed uncontrollably as a child. I fear he ruined whatever chance he may have had at a career in singing, though I do not think he ponders that much.”

 

“I hate you so much,” you whisper to him.

 

He frowns. “It's not in your best interest to show your girlfriend—pardon me if you are not, he has lead me to believe you are—that the first emotion you show towards someone in your family is hatred.” He examines your face for a moment before adding, “And an extreme hatred, at that.”

 

Terezi smiles and lightly hits your leg with her cane. “He's cantankerous and angry. He's also short, so maybe he just hates everything on that principle?”

 

Kankri actually cracks and smile and tells Terezi that they have many things to discuss.

 

You order dinner and the three of you are sitting around your table. Kankri leads the charge with conversation.

 

“So, Terezi. I have read about many of the trials you handled, and I must say that you dealt with many of them with a strong fairness that I admire,” Kankri says at one point, his hand resting in his hand. He blinks at her, looking utterly fascinated.

 

You want to puke. Terezi, however, is looking delighted. Her smile never wavers and she answers in between bouts of stuffing MSG down her throat.

 

“Well, a rule I try to abide by is whether or not I believe the person being tried is guilty,” Terezi states after she swallows a gulp of noodles. “However, the person on trial is hardly ever _not_ guilty, due to the nature of the crimes I deal with, and the outstanding equipment used nowadays.”

 

“How do you account for those you do not believe are guilty, though?” Kankri asks, and you think he'd being pretentious and just inflating Terezi's ego.

 

She puts down her fork and folds her hands on the table. “Did Karkat tell you about John?”

 

Kankri straightens himself. “Yes, Karkat and I have spoken extensively about the most proper way to deal with the boy's situation. In the confines of the doctor-patient confidentiality agreement, that is.”

 

“Well, then you know that I do not believe he is guilty.” Terezi flashes a bright smile. She has lovely teeth, you notice. “Of murder, that is.”

 

“Well, what convinced you of this stance?”

 

“The things him and Karkat were saying,” Terezi says after a moment. She turns her head towards you and gives a small, closed-mouth smile. “They made sense. I've gained the ability to tell when someone can be a murder. You can tell a sociopath from a scared child with paranoia.”

 

“Socially speaking, I believe it is not practiced to diagnose children as sociopaths until they are adults,” Kankri states and you can just tell he is getting into one hell of a speech.

 

However, in the time it takes him to breathe so he can continue on his path of educating the masses, Terezi interrupts him.

 

Her smile is sharp and reminds you of when she hears something she doesn't like. “That doesn't stop it from being true.”

 

And so on. Eventually Kankri looks at the clock and realizes that he has a very important lecture to give the next morning. He bids his farewell, but not before adding his number to Terezi's phone. You tell yourself to ask Nepeta to delete it later.

 

He leaves and Terezi turns to you. She reaches her arms out and you step forward to meet her. She wraps her arms around your neck and leans her body in.

 

She's smiling at you, her glasses on her face. “So, why was your brother here?”

 

You remove your hands from her hips and take off her glasses. You place them on the table and her god-fucking dog sneaks a lick on your hand.

 

You curse and she laughs at you and it's so _easy._ You wipe your hand on your pants and return to Terezi. She's still smiling, but it's softer now, more personal. She has in actual eyes because of court today. You won't tell her how lovely a color her eyes used to be.

 

You ask her why she's smiling like an idiot.

 

She laughs at you again. She hugs herself closer to you and giggles out, “I just like being with you, is that a crime?”

 

“You should know, you're the goddamn lawyer,” you say grudgingly, but you find pleasure in her words. She enjoys being with you; _no one_ enjoys being with you.

 

She quirks her still-smiling mouth to the side and narrows her eyes at you. “Well, if it is, I think I would have been cuffed already. Now, why was your brother here? Are you afraid to be with me after what Sollux suggested we try?” Her voice and manners are coy and calm. She's playing with you and you don't know if it annoys you because you hate her or because you may actually find her presence more desirable than you let on.

 

_Sollux._

 

Sollux couldn't handle the tension between Terezi and yourself during that legendary game of Pictionary and had very rudely called out some things the two of you could be doing that required skill with hands. His suggestion was in fewer words, though, and the fast friendship him and Terezi are forming scares you. He seems to enjoy her company more than yours, these days.

 

Not that you can blame him; you're an insufferable little shit.

 

You shake your head at her. “No, I just wanted to be alone tonight. Maybe talk for a bit.”

 

She purses her lips and pulls you over to your couch, apparently having memorized the location of the piece of furniture. She sits down and folds her legs. She tugs you down next to her.

 

“So, about court today,” she starts, but you stop her.

 

“What do you think is gonna happen?” you ask. You're playing with her fingers, dancing the slender lengths around your stumpy ones.

 

She faces your hands. “Well, court today went about as well as I expected. John's a good kid, but I think the stress of the situation is eating at him.”

 

“No shit, it would eat at anyone,” you mutter, still toying with her fingers. You sit there in silence for a bit before a blush begins to creep its way up your neck. “Do you really think you're going to win?”

 

Terezi smiles at you and brings her unoccupied hand to your shoulder. She slides it up until she's holding your face. You can't help but press your overheated cheek to her cool hand. “If I thought we weren't gonna win, I wouldn't have taken the case. I don't lose, Karkat.”

 

Of course she doesn't, she's Terezi fucking Pyrope. She gets her eyes blown out of her skull and she becomes a lawyer at a ridiculously young age. She doesn't think someone is guilty, so she potentially throws her job out of the window just to help them. She let her friends get blown to bits. She blames herself for her friends getting blown to bits. She still loves everything despite how shitty everything is. You're so rough for her, it's ridiculous. She's everything you want in a person; someone to hate, someone to love, someone you can look up to, someone you can look down on.

 

You sit there like that for a few moments just _reflecting_ on her before Terezi leans in and gives you a peck on the lips. She pulls away from you and you yank her back, and she crashes against you.

 

You kiss her without wanting to and with no intention of stopping. You yo-yo between harsh and biting, soft and simple.

 

She returns in kind, climbing closer to you until she's in your lap. She straddles you and you move down her, kissing her jaw, neck, shoulder, ear. She gives an unexpected moan and it zaps through you. It's lightning that punches you everywhere, beating the shit out of you.

 

She nudges your head back up to her and she grabs fists of your shirt, tugging you into her. Your hands move south from their place on her hips and squeeze. You think you hear Lemon bark, but you don't know.

 

She whines into your mouth and grinds down on you. You push back, the feeling setting your blood on fire. Your heart punches your sternum with each pump and you might be having a heart attack but _fuck._

You bring a hand to the small of her back and another to the front of her shirt. Buttons come undone as she helps you with her shirt. You don't attempt to remove it from her, just push it to side and cup her chest.

 

She moves her hands from their grip on your shirt to your neck. One arm wraps up and around your shoulders, pressing you to her. The other is gripping the back of your neck with a force you didn't know the blind lawyer possessed.

 

 

You rub circles, massage her through her bra and she moans again and she _bites you._

 

The sensation of having your neck bitten into like an apple shocks you to your senses.

 

You jump. Terezi's startled, almost off your lap. You release your hold on her and almost shove her away.

 

Oh, _God._ She's looking at you with a mixture of concern and hurt. She's sitting far back on your knees, leaning away from you. You see the intense blush on her face and the kisses-turning-bruises you left on her chest and shoulders. Your own blush intensifies.

 

“Karkat, are you okay?” she asks, reaching out for you. Her voice is low and soft and it just _eats_ at you.

 

You flinch away from her touch. You reach out and grab her shoulders, try not to notice how warm she is. Try not to notice how just _touching_ her seems to electrify you. Try not to notice how you want to just press yourself to her so hard you might become one person.

 

“Tez, can we not?” you ask after a few moments of breathing in the hormone-laden air.

 

She looks concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

 

“I just don't want to right now,” you say and then you're stumbling over your words. “Today just sucked in general and my fucking brother had to show up and I'm just worried about everything and could we maybe just talk?” Your thoughts pound against the walls of your head. The pictures of John in the courtroom battle with the images of Terezi in front of you, under you, _around you_. They push and fight for the front of your concerns and your desires.

 

In the end, neither wins, and you end up a mixture of worried and frustrated and angry.

 

Terezi's not mad, but you wish she was. You want her to beat the shit out of you, but she won't do that.

 

She smiles, softer and it seems foreign on her face. “It's fine, let's just... calm down.”

 

She gets off of you and re-buttons her shirt. You can't help but notice the lovely way her fingers dance up her blouse as she slides the buttons back into place. You get up and leave the for the bathroom for a few minutes to calm down. Maybe dunk your head in ice water.

 

When you return, Terezi is standing in front of her couch, cane in hand. She reaches out and you grab her hand, pulling her to lie down next to you on the couch. Her cane is placed on the floor.

 

You situate yourself behind her, laying your arm over her. It fits nicely in the dip of her waist. “Where's your dog?”

 

“I put her in your room, I hope she doesn't chew your pillows.”

 

You groan. “Aren't service animals supposed to be, I don't know, _goddamned trained_?”

 

She laughs. “She is better behaved than your friends.”

 

“Fuck you, my friends are fantastic.”

 

She laughs again and you crack a smile. The soft banter goes back and forth between you two before your mind goes back to the day. You've already talked about everything you possibly could about it and it's eating you. You can't let anything bad happen, but you've already said everything there is to say about that.

 

The person wielding the power in the situation is the tall, thin girl lying in front of you. You whisper her name, but you are rewarded with a light snore.

 

The little shit fell asleep.

 

You get mad for a split second before you look at your clock and see the time is 1 AM. You pull her closer to yourself and press a light peck to the back of her neck. She doesn't stir at all and the warm comfort of the situation eventually lulls you into a soft sleep where you're not completely terrified of the girl in your arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, I wasn't really satisfied with this chapter but there's not much else I can do it. Thoughts?


	8. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 8

**More Heart than Brains: Chapter 8  
  
** Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you're _tired._ **  
  
**But, tired in a good way. The kind of tired that comes right after a really restful sleep. You spent the night on Karkat's sofa and you didn't actually think a human being could be so warm. Especially when his exterior tends to be so frigid, you're surprised he didn't melt. **  
  
**You woke up first, the sound of your phone blasting your alarm, and jarring you from his warm embrace. You'd gotten up and groped around for the offending piece of machinery, telling it to shut up. **  
  
**It had done so and Karkat had sat up behind you.

 **  
  
**He apologized for last night. “I just... look, it's not exactly something we should be rushing into right now. Not last night, anyway.” **  
  
**You'd smiled and patted his cheek. “It's fine, really. I think it's sweet, dear,” you said, kissing his face. You could feel his blush as he pecked you back and you'd requested that he allow you to take a shower. **  
  
**He had allowed you to and asked you what time court started. **  
  
“** Well, my alarm goes off at seven, and court is in at twelve today, so in a few hours,” you'd said as you attempted to wrap your arms around him. **  
  
**He lets you with a moderate amount of fussing. **  
  
“** Why don't you go home to take a shower?” he asks as you lay awkwardly on top of him. **  
  
**You frown. “Do you want me to leave? I could call Nepeta and she could come and get me.” **  
  
**His 'no' is delightfully enthusiastic before he checks himself. He coughs. “No, just call her and ask her to come over with some clothes for you or something.” **  
  
**You say fine. You get up and feel your way to his bathroom, pausing at his bedroom to release your lovely pup. She lets out an excited bark and attempts to lick every part of you she can. You bend down and tell her to go play with Karkat, you'll be right back. **  
  
**The last thing you hear before you shut the door to the bathroom is Lemon barking happily and Karkat cursing exasperatedly. **  
  
**You give Nepeta a call and ask her to come over with some clothes for you. She asks what happened last night. You laugh and say nothing really, you don't think it was the right moment. His brother was there earlier. **  
  
**Her pout is audible, she likes it when you're happy and she knows you were thinking something was going to happen last night. You say it was nice just sleeping next to him. She says so long as you're happy and she she'll be over asap. **  
  
**You flounder around, trying to get clean for what you assume is about 20 minutes. The unfamiliar terrain of the shower and his numerous masculine products is slightly confusing and when you finally emerge from the warm steam, you smell like him. It's a nice feeling. **  
  
**You exit with a towel wrapped around your midsection to find Nepeta has arrived with one of your suits. **  
  
**You put the clothes on and when you finally talk to everyone again Karkat is ready to break a table in half with how much he hates your animal. **  
  
“** This goddamned dog is getting fur all over _everything_ and I am running out of surfaces in this house that do not have _slobber_ on them,” is among one of the many Lemon-related complaints he has voiced so far. **  
  
**Soon enough it's time for the trial and Nepeta takes all of you to the courthouse. **  
  
**You enter, and court begins after the opening procession. **  
  
**The prosecution goes first, calls his first witness. It's a young woman who saw John enter the alley. Her testimony is small and only reinforces what the charges against John say. You speak with her briefly, asking if she saw John harm the victim in anyway. She says no, but he was the only person to go into the alley that she saw. You ask again if she saw him harm her in any way. **  
  
**She concedes that no, she did not. **  
  
**You thank her and she leaves the stand. You call up the next witness, for the defense. A young Mr. Dave Strider, the best friend of John Egbert and all around pretty obnoxious kid. **  
  
**He's great. **  
  
“** So Dave, what's your family situation like?” you ask, standing by your desk. **  
  
**His response is cool with a small amount of boredom, he's obviously explained this numerous times. “I live with my brother Dirk in the top of an apartment complex in Houston Texas. We're trust fund babies, our parents died a long time ago and now we live in this huge orphanage-thing. Except we pay for everything, it's complicated. We pretty much live alone and have a social worker-check in with us and all of our bills are handled and Dirk usually goes grocery shopping.” **  
  
**He adds something after the fact, his smile audible. “It’s like a batman type deal, except we’re not out for revenge and don’t have a butler. But dead parents is certainly something we have in common.” **  
  
“** Interesting, so you don't go outside much?” you ask, wondering how the fuck he's allowed to live by himself. **  
  
“** I can actually see my skin sizzling when I go outside, so that's a no.” **  
  
**You smile. “And your brother?” **  
  
“** He goes out often enough, he can get pretty aloof sometimes, but he's usually alright. He's just a pretty calm guy. We rap together a lot and he runs this website which is where most of our spending money comes from since our actual family cash is locked up tighter than Fort Knox.” **  
  
“** And would you be so kind as to tell us your relationship with the defendant?” **  
  
“** John? Sh-oot, he's my best friend. We met when we were younger, like 10 or something? Our siblings were friends already and set us up to talk about the same game on a forum. That's how I met the rest of my friends, through him. They're all home schooled and they met through this pen-pal thing and so I met them.” **  
  
**There's a pause before he adds- “I owe a lot to John.” **  
  
**You smile softly, the sound of Dave's murmured words bouncing through the microphone. Your next question is about what has been happening with this “Jack” character for John. **  
  
“** Shit-- sorry, I don't think I'm allowed to curse, am I allowed to do that?” Dave asks, sounding a little flustered. **  
  
**You can taste the judge's disapproval and hear the way Karkat silently bemoans his existence. “I wouldn't suggest it.” **  
  
“** Alright, I can handle that. So, John started being stalked by this guy ever since he turned 13 a few months ago.” Dave starts. You hear his chair squeak as he shifts to get comfortable. “He said he was noticing him following him and he was getting _pretty anxious_ about it, but if you were being followed by a man in a black trench coat, I think you would be too.” **  
  
“** And Dave, do you believe that Jack is real?” **  
  
**There is no hesitation to his answer. “I came up with the name Jack Noir for him. Yes, I think he's 100% real and that this entire trial is pointless. I mean, John's the same age as me and I can't picture myself ever killing someone.” **  
  
**You nod and pray to God no one objects to what Dave has said. You hear apprehension from the prosecution, but they thankfully let it slide. You thank Dave and turn him over. **  
  
**The question is short and simple, you can hear the rustling of papers. “Dave, do you recognize these?” **  
  
**You hear papers change hands. “Yeah, these are chats between me and my friends. How'd you get these?” **  
  
**The prosecution asks that they be moved into evidence because they contain information written by the defendant himself pertaining the issue of his mental stability. You do not object because you have perused the documents and found that they do indeed pertain to John's mental-state. **  
  
**The prosecution moves over Dave smoothly, asking him the same preliminary questions as you. However, the wording, the inflection, it turns Dave's answers around and hands out how unstable John can appear. **  
  
**You bemoan your existence along with Karkat. **  
  
**Dave is dismissed and you don't hear him walk back to his seat. You hear him sit down however, the wood creaking under the weight of the boy. The next witness is Rose Lalonde. **  
  
**She is called up to the stand, and her voice is calm and smooth as she takes the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, or so help her God. You can hear the smirk in her voice as she says she will and sits, stating her personal information for the record. **  
  
“** I live with my mother and sister,” Rose says in response to your question about her home situation. “And I met John through the home school association when I was younger. My family lives in the Thousand Islands, and so we have our mother and tutors.” **  
  
“** Sounds lovely. Do you regret not going to school with other children?” you ask, tapping on the floor as you walk around. **  
  
**Rose considers your words and seems to roll her answer around as she gives it. “No, I do not regret it. I  don't think I would have met my wonderful friends had I maybe gone to public school, or even private. My sister feels the same as me.” **  
  
**You smile. “So you're very grateful for your friends.” **  
  
“** Yes, extremely.” **  
  
“** How do you feel about this?” **  
  
“** About my friends or about where I am right now? I am equally exasperated with both, but for entirely different reasons.” **  
  
**Your smile grows kinder as you cut to the chase. “Has John ever spoken to you about the man he's been noticing?” **  
  
**Rose answers calmly, but her tone has a hint of apprehension. “Yes, he spoke about him a lot, actually. He was someone who followed him and never approached. I feel like he was menacing John, but I've never seen the man.” **  
  
**You move over to your desk and Nepeta hands you a chat log between Rose and John. You ask Rose if she has seen it before. She says yes and you ask her where. She says that it is a log between her and John. **  
  
**You move it into evidence and give it to Rose. You ask her to read a certain part of it, and she complies. **  
  
“** EB: I don't know, Rose,” Rose begins after clearing her voice. Her words are slightly strained as she pushes them past her teeth. “Everyday keeps getting worse. I saw him around the corner the other day. And today I saw him buying something in a shop! A few other people were with him, too. A big guy and a small guy and one that was about the same size as him. The small one might have been a midget.” **  
  
**Rose sighs, the sound crackling through the microphone. It sounds like someone hitting a pillow with rocks. “TT: I don't know John, are you sure you saw him?” **  
  
“** EB: Yes, positive! It was him and he looked at me and winked!” **  
  
“** TT: Is it possible you imagined it?” **  
  
“** EB: No way, he talked to people and he laughed a little.” **  
  
“** TT: How long were you there for?” **  
  
“** EB: I stared at him until he noticed me.” **  
  
“** TT: John--” Rose begins but you cut her off. **  
  
“** That's enough, Ms. Lalonde. I have a question.” **  
  
**You hear papers moving as Rose places them in what you assume is her lap. She doesn't say anything, and instead waits silently for you to ask. **  
  
“** What do you think of John's behavior about this Jack?” **  
  
**Rose clears her throat and you can actually hear her staring out into the spectator benches. “I think he's real. I think he's real in the sense that John has been under a lot of stress lately and is projecting these feelings of stress onto other people he sees.” **  
  
**Rose answers a few more questions pertaining to her relationship with her friends, how is she doing at school? She's doing very well, thank you for asking. **  
  
**You turn her over to the prosecution. **  
  
**Court is strange, the way the same words with a new light shone on them cast a different shadow. Rose's credibility as someone who can diagnose John like this comes into question. And you'll relent, she's just a child. When directly asked about it, Rose's reply was sweet with an undertone of sly sarcasm. **  
  
“** I admit, I do have a tendency to over-analyze. I have a penchant for psychiatry, and I guess I do take it out on friends. But that doesn't make what I've seen about John any different, Sir.” **  
  
**You like the 'sir' she tacked on at the end. It felt like a formal slap on the wrist and completely inappropriate for someone her age and in her position. It was fun to hear and you like this girl very much. **  
  
**When questioned, quite innocently, if she would be willing to perjure herself, lie under oath, to protect John, her answer is not as whip-smart. It's slower, more deliberate, and you can hear the way she rolls the words around, tasting them, before vocalizing them. **  
  
“** I care very deeply for my friends. I'll even say I love them, because it's true. If I were going to risk going to jail to protect one of them, I think I'd try and do a better job than telling everyone that I think one of them is slightly mentally ill.” **  
  
**Your lips flick up in a small smile before pushing them down. You take care to notice how she didn't mention John in her statement. Very intelligent girl, probably researched this thoroughly before getting in here. Not only does she up her own credibility and trustworthiness, she doesn't incriminate John further. **  
  
**You hope she chooses a career in law. **  
  
**Rose is eventually dismissed and John's sister is brought up on stand. Name, occupation, state relationship to defendant, oh you're his sister? Well then, get under oath, girl, you're being watched. Don't misstep, don't lie, lying is the worst thing you can do right now. **  
  
**You smile softly for the girl. You haven't spoken to her alone much, more focusing on John's father than anyone. Still, you know what you're getting into this girl. **  
  
“** So Jane, you're John's sister?” you ask, standing behind your desk. **  
  
**You can hear the way the air from her nodding displaces the things around her. It pushes at the microphone, undetectable to those with eyes to dull their ears. You hear it faintly. **  
  
“** Yes,” she says. Her voice is much like John's, her tone stronger with worried lilts. She's probably a worry-wart, if you had to guess. “I'm three years older than him.” **  
  
“** So, you're sixteen?” **  
  
“** Yes.” **  
  
“** Can you tell me what happened on the day of October 18th, this year?” **  
  
**The air she puffs out is tired and full of weariness. You sympathize with the girl, having felt many in her place. **  
  
“** Well, my brother left home to go pick up a magazine at the post office. He didn't want to wait until the mail came in, he really wanted to read this new issue,” Jane starts with the practiced story she's told numerous times. “I told him to just wait for it, but he said he'd be right back. He was supposed to be gone for at most 2 hours.” **  
  
**Jane stops here and takes a deep, fatigued breath. “When he was gone for 3 hours, we tried calling his cell. He wouldn't answer. At 4 hours, my father left to go look for him and I stayed home in case he came back. At 7 hours of being gone, my father came home and we were distressed. At 9 hours, we got a call from the police station that John was being detained, if we could please come down.” **  
  
**You breathe in the silence that follows her narrative. You enjoy the way she phrased it, making it seem like a real tragedy and not just something that happened on pen and paper. She says he's her brother, not just John, it makes him more real, more immediate. **  
  
**You're working with smart kids. Who ever said teens weren't smart should take the time to speak to them. **  
  
“** Jane, can you please tell us about this man that John has been seeing for months leading up to the incident?” You ask, breaking the stuffy pale silence. **  
  
**Jane breathes the question in before releasing her answer. “He's told us about it. A lot, actually. That's why he goes to Mr. Vantas.” You hear her shake her head, the displacement of the air and the smell of shampoo. “He really helped John. He was getting better. He wasn't as on edge as he used to be and he talked to my father more.” **  
  
**You smile, small and kind. “It must have been nice.” **  
  
“** Well, it sure wasn't like John was going to get tried for murder,” Jane remarks, snappy and sarcastic. She quickly sobers and speaks again. “He's not ill, just under a lot of stress lately.” **  
  
“** What could contribute to these high stress levels, do you think?” **  
  
**Jane considers your words before offering hers. “Well, he's just a kid. And turning 13 is a big step for someone in our house and our lifestyle. You become an adult and with that comes all the responsibility of one. It's a lot to take in and I guess he's just been overwhelmed by it.” **  
  
**You nod your head, say it makes perfect sense. You finish with her and turn her over to the prosecution. **  
  
**She gets questioned again, more about what happened at the police station when they went to get John. They told her and her father what happened, that John was the suspect in the death of the woman. It was all very suspicious, if you ask her. **  
  
**And they did. **  
  
**She is let down soon, having succeeded in presenting a lovely support bar for John's case. **  
  
**And now is the last of John's closest friends, one Ms. Jade Harley. **  
  
**She comes up to the stand, her feet tapping merrily on the hard flooring. You hear the swish of a skirt and the breezing of hair. She, too, swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help her, God. **  
  
**You ask a bit about her home situation. **  
  
**She's cheery and intelligent in her reply. “I live with my grandfather and my brother in Hawaii. We have an entire island to ourselves and we're homeschooled, that's where I met John and his sister and her friends. My brother and I build robots as a hobby, like my grandfather does.” **  
  
“** You build robots?” She owns an island? **  
  
“** Yes, we build them and sell them privately. It's how we make most of our money.” **  
  
“** What does your grandfather do?” you ask, genuinely curious about this girl's life. You've heard it all before from Karkat's tapes, but damn. It's just so... different. **  
  
**She speaks with teeth and smiles in her voice. “He used to bring people on tours through Africa when he was younger. He's a professional game hunter and is a robotics expert, so that's where his job is now. Though he's mostly retired.” **  
  
**Well. “Alright, Jade. Could you tell us about your relationship with John?” **  
  
“** We've been friends for years, ever since we were younger! He's how I met Dave and Rose and how my brother met his sister,” she begins, her words practiced and slightly stale. She's obviously been over this many times. “We're like brother and sister, really close. I've never really _met_ him though. Plane tickets are expensive and most of our money actually goes to paying for our island.” **  
  
** _Their island._ **“** You're still friends,” you say, smiling again. Maybe you should tell a joke, put her more at ease. **  
  
**Then again, those in your position should not be joking in the courtroom. **  
  
**You ask her about John and his state about Jack. **  
  
**Her reply is vehement and sure. “I've seen some really weird stuff, living so far away from everyone else. Can you believe I've only ever seen _pictures_ of cars? When John started telling me about how he thought he was being stalked, I believed him right away. I was told I was gullible for it, but John doesn't overreact to these kinds of things. Sure, he's loud when it comes to things he hates, but towards the things he's _afraid of_ , he's much more lucid.” **  
  
“** So you think he's real because of how he acted?” **  
  
**Her reply is a succinct yes. **  
  
**She's passed over to the prosecution and questioned. All in all, you think trial is going very well. Nepeta converses with you about how some of the jurists are reacting, and many seem conflicted, apparently. They don't know what to believe and that's exactly how you want it. **  
  
“** They look sympathetic,” she whispers to you, her lips close to your ear. You smile, satisfied with your project.

**  
**However, of course everything needs to just go to shit. It's the natural course of events in your life, and it wouldn't be _your life_ without that happening. **  
  
**Jade gets asked again, how do you feel about John and Jack? She gives the same reply as before, this is going well. Then, she is asked if she recognizes the stack of paper she is passed. Nepeta whispers to you, it's the chat logs again. **  
  
**Jade says that she indeed does, they're her conversations with John. How did you get them? They are moved into evidence. She is asked to read certain parts of it, all with a common theme: how she in fact _does not_ , believe John. **  
  
**They all feel taken out of context and Jade says so. She was just trying to comfort him, tell him he wasn't real, try to put his mind at ease. She wasn't lying to you, she was just trying to tell John what she thought would help him. You can hear her getting angrier as she gets accused of lying on the stand, how she's lying to her friend. She holds her tongue and you grip your cane so tightly you fear it'll snap. **  
  
**By the end of it, everyone is fucked sideways. **  
  
**The judge calls that court is adjourned for the day. He also calls that the witnesses be evaluated again, with the prosecution and defense attorney present. You want to say fuck that, it's not necessary, but you have little ground for an objection. The prosecution did clearly manage to show a  merging of fact and fiction in the kids' testimonies. **  
  
**Jade said one thing and then turned around and said the opposite. Dave has the chance that he is lying for the friend he owes many things to. Rose is too intelligent for her own good. **  
  
**You know what's going on, the prosecution is trying to get them tossed as witnesses, just use their chat logs. If they get thrown out, your case is dashed against the rocks. You will have zero chance of getting john acquitted and he will be sent to jail for possibly his entire life. **  
  
**If this goes the wrong way, you're going to have to seriously consider seeing if you can make a deal with the state for John. There will be little room for anything else at that point. **  
  
**The judge calls for trial to be suspended for 2 days, the witnesses reevaluated, and then for court to reconvene. He calls court adjourned and everyone is dismissed. You wait at your bench with John and Nepeta until most of the spectators leave. You speak to Mr. Egbert quietly before he leaves with his family. The rest of the kids are taken to their hotel rooms, which they'll probably leave later to visit John. **  
  
**You and Nepeta drive Karkat to his apartment. He sits in the back with Lemon and doesn't rebel as much as he usually does. He kisses you when he gets out of the car and asks you what time you're going to get him tomorrow. You say you and Nepeta will be there at 6 AM, so be ready. He says he will be and you hear him walk inside. **  
  
**When you and Nepeta get back to your apartment, she gets a call from Equius, asking her to come over right away. She says she'll be right back. **  
  
**She doesn't come back for a few hours, until it's 10 PM. You'd gone to bed by then but sleep did not overtake you. Perhaps you weren't tired, it's difficult to tell when your eyes can't get itchy or watery. You lay awake, asking your phone what time it is every so often. Each time it responds, it seems time is moving more and more slowly until you finally manage to slip under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Message me with questions or concerns about this chapter [here](http://beagletime.tumblr.com/ask).


	9. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((NSFW)))

**More Heart than Brains: 9**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have mixed feelings.

 

Your emotions about yourself and your friends are twined together, stitched into an ugly amorphous blob that assimilates all things it comes into contact with. You hate yourself, you have no question about that. It's the _kind_ of hate you hold.

 

You don't want to _die,_ you want to do _better._

 

You hate your friends as well, but it's not an angry hate. It's the kind of hate that is born out of healthy animosity. You enjoy and are immensely frustrated by the challenge they place before you, each one completely different than the last. That kind of bond is the one that shifts between genuine affection and genuine hate.

 

Then there's _Terezi._

 

Blind and terrible, she completely changes everything about you. Your affections for her are hard for you to tell apart from your abhorrence. Her mannerisms are right smack in your face, her personality is something that burrows beneath the skin and melds itself to your nervous system. God, she has no sense of personal space, always sitting on you, finding reasons to hold on to you. She claims she needs guidance, but even without eyes, she can find her way better than you ever could.

 

And yet. _And yet._ It's difficult for you, you can't tell what your body is doing. When she's around you, you just want to be by her, want to sit there and listen to her talk, watch her aimlessly play with your hands. You want to sleep with her just like you did the other night, perhaps not on your hard-ass sofa, but somewhere softer and twice as innocent. Your gut twists in what you would have assumed, before you met her, to mean that you were falling victim to some illness which may or may not require you to puke up all of your internal organs. When you dwell too deeply on these feelings for her, you don't find it hard to believe you could be in some sort of love with her.

 

Like now, though you may be inclined to believe that the sliding of your intestines is from apprehension and not a twisted form of love.

 

You're in a room with gray walls and barred-off windows. Cold metal chairs are supplied for you and the four others in the room. You are seated across from the first kid up for reevaluation, one Miss Jade Harley.

 

There is a table behind her and to the far right, housing the prosecutor, Nepeta, and Terezi. They sit in silence, watching, and, in Terezi's case especially, listening.

 

You ask Jade how she's doing.

 

She looks unhappy and frustrated, her glasses throwing a glare off the light and into your eye. You slide your chair over. “I'm fantastic, how are you?” she says, her voice not fantastic at all.

 

“I'm sitting here at 6:30 AM on a Saturday morning, I'm about as fantastic as you are.”

 

She smiles a bit. “I like getting up early. 'Rise with the sun!' like my grandpa says. Nothing ever got done while sleeping through the sun.”

 

You frown a little, your face falling easily into the worn-in lines. “I'm more of an evening person.” You clear your throat. “Could you tell me what you thought of court yesterday?”

 

Her eyes dart to the recorder running next to you and then to your eyes. You avert your sight from her jade green gaze. Not envious, her eyes are bright with disturbance.

 

“Well, you were there,” she starts, leaning back in her chair and blowing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It _went._ I don't really think I helped much.”

 

“Well, trial's a group effort. Why don't you think you helped?”

 

Jade snorts, her eyes rolling behind bottle lenses. “I'm kinda the reason we all have to get interrogated again.”

 

You frown at her, disgruntled. “Well if this is punishment, I'm the one getting punished here. It's early and I have to talk to your other two friends again.”

 

“Did you ever royally fuck up your friend?”

 

You think about her question before you answer. You could lie, say you and your friends are the picture of the mental health. You could tell her the truth, too, tell her how you only had two friends growing up. You could tell her how both of your friends have schizophrenia, one in a mental institution for it and the other on heavy, mood-altering medication.

 

“Yes,” you answer, not saying anything else.

 

Jade considers you, her almond eyes steadying on your face. You suppose she'd be more intimidating if she could keep her huge teeth in her mouth, but she manages to pull more menace than her age would suggest she could.

 

 

“Well, were they accused of killing someone?” she asks finally. You see Nepeta and Terezi perk up behind her while the prosecutor looks bored and somewhat angry.

 

You stare at her for a bit, her glasses messing with your eyes. “No.”

 

She smirks at you, her face saying that she has the ball.

 

You take it up a notch, not wanting to be outdone by a kid. “If they had been, I wouldn't be here. When I was younger, he was sick. Not right in the head, he had a mental break down and mistook me for someone trying to hurt him.”

 

Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an O of shock. She says she's sorry, she's sorry she asked. Terezi's face doesn't betray any emotion, but Nepeta looks slightly haunted. The gaunt prosecutor is unamused and stoic as usual.

 

You say it's fine, you got better. Now, back to John.

 

She tells you pretty much the same things as she did last time. When you directly ask her about how she feels about Jack, she steels herself, spitting back an answer.

 

“Look, I told you. I think he's real! I have no reason to think John's sick and wouldn't he have showed this when he was younger, if he was?” Her breathing is a little rough and the jade in her eyes flashes dangerously.

 

You frown even harder. “We're always at risk of developing something wrong with our minds.” You situate yourself in your seat better, gearing up to give her a little advice. “Our minds are fragile, especially when we're young. Most of the mental breakdowns and psychosis that happen in the world occur when people are in their teens. A lot of stress is placed on them, but it doesn't mean they're gonna be like that forever.” You take a deep breath and let it out. “People get better, mental disease is just like physical. Sometimes there's a cure, sometimes there's not. Sometimes people just need time to get better, sometimes they need a little help.”

 

–

 

Jade confides in you that she cares too deeply for John to say anything to harm him, but she hasn't lied once in her life, so why start now? Anyone else would call her on her bullshit as a child protecting a friend. You don't think that's the case. You believe her and you dismiss her.

 

Then comes in Dave Strider.

 

This kid is a real piece of work. Average height for his age, and eyes unnaturally red, he's a little shit. Annoying as fuck, it's disturbing how much he reminds you of yourself.

 

You know, if you were even _more_ full of shit than you are already.

 

He sits in front of you, sunglasses stuck to his face. He seems a little interested in the bars on the window and waves to the three people seated along it. Nepeta smiles at him, Terezi doesn't know he waved until Nepeta tells her. She then opens her mouth, smiling shark-like, her gums full of knives and glass. The prosecutor, fuck, you can't even remember his name, seems unamused as usual.

 

Dave sits and taps his fingers on the table, hitting out some sort of broken rhythm.

 

You clear your throat. “So Dave, it's good to see you again.”

 

He cracks a smile. “Great to see you too. Court yesterday was shit-nasty, I thought ya were gonna flip a fuckin' table.”

 

“I don't think that would have been the best idea.”

 

“I think it would have been really dramatic, like in all those shitty court shows Rose watches.” Dave's smile widens and he sits up, using his hands to talk. “You'd just flip Ms. Pyrope's bench and everyone would be like 'oh shit, this is crazy!' and then you'd get dragged off by the bailiff and _then_ someone who's testimony would be instrumental to the case busts in and shows evidence on how John isn't guilty.”

 

You stare him. “That was the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

 

He slouches more in his seat but remains smiling. “Calm it, man, a kid can dream. I'm still young, I can have flights of fancy.”

 

“Fly your fancy back so we can discuss the case.”

 

He salutes you. “Flight docked and ready for passengers.”

 

You close your eyes and rub your temples. _Insufferable._ “Alright, how did you feel about what happened yesterday?”

 

He's quiet before answering. “Well, I think I slam dunked that. Rose and Jade held it up pretty well too, but really, I think John's being set up.”

 

You frown and shake your head a little. The prosecutor does not seem happy at all, a thick frown folding his chalk-white face.

 

“Dave, the credibility of all of your friends is on the line here. I don't think you get just how goddamned important it is that you remove all doubt that you could possibility be lying about _anything_.”

 

“Alright, Jesus, don't bust a gut or something. I told you everything I know, think, have known, or have thought about John and Jack and this goddamned trial. I don't know, I think re-questioning me is just going to end up getting up nowhere, fast, and it's just hurting everyone. I mean, shit, what else do you want me to say? That I've secretly been holding back to the key to John's freedom for shits and giggles?”

 

“That'd be convenient.”

 

Dave grins. “Convenience isn't always the best option.”

 

–

 

“I think Jack is a product of John's already over-active imagination, _coupled with_ his high stress levels. His dad is really protective and as a result, John is really sheltered, so, seeing things that scare him would possibly cause him to see them everywhere. I think he saw the man, Jack, somewhere _once_ and is projecting him whenever he sees something that makes him uncomfortable.”

 

Your session with Rose goes as well as you had expected.

 

“Rose, I asked you how you thought trial went yesterday.”

 

“I'm leading up to that. I just think it's very important that you think about this--”

 

“I have a _degree_ in psychiatry. I plan on going for my _doctorate._ I have thought about this from every angle.”

 

Rose smiles, sly and smart. “Mr. Vantas, I think you have trouble listening to others.”

 

You frown, your mouth open a little. “I _listen to people for a living.”_

 

“There is a difference between listening to people's problems and listening to people's advice.”

 

Her session is a fast one and you leave soon after. You shake hands with the prosecution, his hands as cold and pale as the rest of him. You shiver as he thanks you for your time and leaves with his own recording of the sessions. Six hours of tape, this was a long day.

 

Nepeta takes you, her and Terezi back to your apartment to review the case. Lemon jumps on your couch and makes herself comfortable, burrowing her fur into your furniture.

 

Around your kitchen table, the three of are seated, trying to find someway to help.

 

“I want to know why John was so readily tried for this,” Nepeta says after a while. You check the time, it is currently 8. You have been home for 7 hours and most of it has been spent staring at document after document and listening to Terezi replay every recording she has in her possession.

 

Terezi rubs her face, her hands pressing her implants into her head. “He's the best suspect. There at the crime scene and covered in the victim's blood? He can't even remember a chunk of time, of course he's being so readily tried. He's a golden suspect.”

 

You counter that. “I've tried to make it abundantly clear that John is not well enough for this, nor is he capable of murder.” You sigh and shove the papers away from yourself, disgusted. “Psychiatry is a field only used when it is to the benefit of one party.”

 

“I resent that,” Terezi states.

 

Nepeta butts in. “It just doesn't seem right. Everyone is dismissing the whole Jack Noir story. If John's been seeing him for such a large amount of time and no violent actions have been taken from John first seeing him to the murder occurring, is there really a subsequent amount of proof saying he flew into a terrified rage and killed a woman?”

 

You answer. “Panic-induced rage _or_ sociopathy. John is under 18, and legally cannot be treated for a personality disorder, but the prosecution is building up a case for it. Their whole platform rests on that John's personality is as rotted as his mind. If he's a sociopath, he's practically incapable of emotion. Adding a nervous disorder into that, he'd be a ticking time bomb. He'd be itching to hurt something, kill it. Killing her because she looked like someone his mind had produced would be both something induced by panic and something he wanted to do. He'd also be very capable of manipulating others into believing what he wants them to.”

 

Nepeta and Terezi are silent, their mouths open slightly.

 

“I don't believe that crock of shit for a second,” you clarify hastily, waving your hands in front of you. “I'm just saying, I understand where the state is going with this.”

 

“Lawyers are not nearly as crooked as you think they are,” Terezi states coolly, sliding her hand along the table to grab the tape recorder.

 

Nepeta chimes in, her sass unexpected. “No, they're much worse.”

 

Terezi looks affronted and you laugh. Nepeta smiles at you, gives you a wink.

 

“I am as straight as an arrow, anyone who tries to bribe me get's their ass reported to the police and put away! I am good at my job because I put guilty people in jail and protect civilians!” Terezi rebukes, her tone hot. She's unhappy, her palms flat on the table.

 

Nepeta smirks and your mouth quirks up. You rib her, and she takes it hotly. Her rebuttal each time is more scorching than the others, and you know it'll probably devolve into someone getting injured before the night is out. You like it though, she's so very animated like this. She spits fire in her words, doing a very convincing interpretation of the dragons she told you she loved as a child.

 

Soon enough, though, Nepeta needs to leave. She gets a text from her sister, please come and get her, her car broke down. She sighs and asks Terezi if she wants to come with her or stay with you.

 

You're smiling, but Terezi is still frowning from the poking and prodding. She says she'll stay with you, she'll call Nepeta tomorrow or later on tonight. Nepeta says that she'll call after she drops her sister off at her house.

 

She leaves and you and Terezi are left to your own devices. Lemon trots over and noses your legs, asking for something, possibly food, possibly a head scratch. You rub her ears while Terezi sits in her chair, huffing loudly.

 

“Something wrong?” you ask dryly. She's leaned over onto the table.

 

She's slow when she speaks. “I take my job very seriously.”

 

“I didn't think you took anything seriously.”

 

Her head snaps up and her red eyes make you flinch. She looks unnatural like this, this being the first time you've ever been actually freaked out be her lack of eyes.

 

“I wanted to be an artist when I was little,” she starts, her head back to facing the table. “Then my eyes got blown out and my parents wanted to sue Vriska's mother. They wanted to go after our other friend, Feferi's, too. Her sister was the one who gave us the fireworks, but I didn't want her to go after them. I mean, it's not like I got forced to do it, I _wanted_ to blow something to hell.”

 

You're silent and she takes a deep breath, sighing most of it out. “I'd always loved watching those dusty shows and courtroom drama's with my parents, but dreamed of becoming a famous artist. It faded out as I got older, and when I lost my sight, it was completely off the horizon. When my mother hired a lawyer, he was a terrible little man. He didn't really seem to have any advice other than how to get the most out of my accident. When I met him, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer just to even it out. If there were going to be rotten people working more for themselves that for others, there had to be people who did the opposite.”

 

“Terezi, you know we didn't mean _any_ of that,” you respond hastily. She took more of what you said to heart than you thought.

 

Her hands go to her head, holding her skull together. “I know, it's just-- I get a lot of shit for what I do. The only people who like lawyers are the ones who hire them, and I _hate_ it when people imply that I'm crooked.”

 

You go over to her and put your hands on her shoulders. “Tez, you're doing a fantastic thing for the Egberts. They couldn't afford a decent lawyer without taking out a mortgage on their home and you're doing this for free! If anyone really accuses you of being crooked, I'll personally beat the shit out of them.”

 

She laughs, her chuckles a little watery. She puts a hand on yours, giving it a squeeze. “Thanks, Karkat. Really.”

 

She stands and gives you a kiss. It's just a peck on the lips, but she lingers there afterward, her lips brushing against yours. You lean in again, and she presses back eagerly. Your hands go around her waist, pull her just a bit closer so your chests are touching. She's warm, warmer than usual. Or maybe your hands are colder than usual. Her mouth brushes against yours again, her breath warm on your lips.

 

It might have been the soft motion or the bursts of feeling you've been having for her the entire day, but something inside of you just _snaps._

 

You crush to her hungrily, sloppy and open. She's shocked, but quickly matches, wrapping her arms around you. Her body presses to yours, backing you up until you're against the wall. You break away to breathe and she slides a hand behind your head.

 

It's so warm between the two of you, it's difficult to breathe. She gives a push of her hips and you grip her hips tightly, maybe hard enough to leave a mark. She makes a small noise and does it again, reclaiming your lips. Your hands stray south, massaging her rear. She groans and breaks off to lean her forehead against yours.

 

You look over and see Lemon staring at you.

 

“Terezi,” you whisper and it sounds so loud in the quiet room.

 

“What?” she asks back, her voice a little raspy.

 

“Your dog is staring.”

 

“What do you want me to do about it?”

 

“She's _your_ dog.”

 

She moves so she's facing you, her nose touching yours. “You wanna stop?” She looks worked-up and afraid you'll say yes.

 

Your stomach pulls a hard clench and you _do not_ want to stop.

 

You tell her no and she suggests moving somewhere else. Your mind spins for a few seconds before you realize what she's asking, what she wants. You say sure, she suggests the bedroom. You make something akin to a groaning or a gurgling sound that she takes as an affirmation.

 

She steps away from you, tugging on your hand. You take her down the slight hallway and into your room, shutting her dog on the outside.

 

Your room is stiflingly warm. The air is thick and hard to breathe and you _may or may not_ be having a panic attack. You don't know why, you've had girlfriends before. You're not in the dark here, you like to think you have an inkling of what you're doing.

 

All your panic and fevered thoughts leave your head as Terezi wraps her arms around your waist and kisses the back of your neck. Your breathing is shallow and somewhat erratic as she places kisses on your exposed skin. She tugs at the collar of your sweater and your knees almost buckle from anticipation.

 

“You alright, Karkat?” she asks, her face in the rough fabric on your shoulder.

 

You say you're better than alright, you're fucking fantastic. You're Karkat Vantas, you know what you're doing.

 

You turn around and press to her again, and she takes it in stride, Her teeth grab at you, her tongue intrusive and cool. You pull her tightly to yourself and back up until you're laying on your bed. She's straddling you and it brings back so many feelings of a few days ago.

 

She asks you if you're really okay.

 

You ask her if _she's_ really okay, she was so close to crying back there.

 

She say's she fine, she really does want this. She grinds down on you and let's out a noise between a squeak and a moan.

 

You groan and grab her hips, flip the two of you over so you're on top. You immediately press yourself to her jaw, drop soft kisses all along the line. She sighs, sounding content, but wraps a leg around you and pulls her hips up again.

 

You press back, one hand steadying yourself, and the other going down to her hip. You kiss her again and she moans into your mouth, her hands fisting in the back of your shirt. She tugs on it with meaning, pulling the garment off your lower back. You can feel your skin flinching as it hits the cooler air, but you help her peel it off of yourself.

 

She grips your shoulders immediately, her lips burying more kisses and bruises there. You fumble with the buttons on her blouse, the circles of plastic really getting in the way.

 

She laughs at you and helps, her blind hands deftly undoing the simple clasps. You push it out of the way and she yanks it off. You don't wait for her to remove her bra, instead just pressing yourself to her collarbone there. You can't help yourself, you abuse the bones thoroughly. You push kisses and impress bites onto her, the quiet screams she lets out giving you more leverage with her.

 

She gets impatient with you and pushes you away. She unclasps the buttons on the front of her bra and pushes it away, removing it and tossing it off the side of the bed.

 

You look away from her, your blood boiling beneath the skin. You can feel your heart trying to break your sternum, not so much as beating as twitching. Your blood pulls hotly through your veins and she grabs one of your hands, places it on her ribcage under her breast. She leans up to kiss you, hitting your cheek instead.

 

You help her out, kiss her sweetly. Your hand wanders upward, cupping the swell of one. She shivers as you rub your thumb over the center, even screaming when you pinch her there. Her hips jump up into yours and you lay down on her more fully, grinding continuously.

 

You leave a trail of kisses down her neck, shoulder, chest, until you get to the top of her other breast. You press your lips to her everywhere you can, your mouth closing over the peak. The noises she lets spill are loud and beautiful, shouting your name mixed with other words of praise and instruction. Her shaking and hard grips make your face burn at the thought that you're capable of doing this to her. She tears at your shoulder, her teeth sinking into the skin.

 

You pinch her again and she bites harder, her hips returning your efforts. You leave her breasts and try to shuffle off your pants. You roll away and push them past your hips, looking over to see her flushed and blankly facing the ceiling.

 

Your pants come off and you ask her if she's okay.

 

She's breathing heavily, her answer quiet. “Jesus _fuck_ , I can hardly move.” She then rolls over limply, her hands shaking as she attempts to push off her pants.

 

You help her out, pulling the garments off of her. She pushes off her underwear and you can't look again. You're mortified, completely and utterly too immature for this. You think about calling the whole thing off when she rolls over again so she's on her back. She opens her arms, telling you to c'mere.

 

You shove your fears away and grab her gently, kissing her. She smiles against your lips and wraps a leg around you again. You can feel how warm she is, and you're _sure_ she can feel how flustered you are. She tries to push off your boxers and you help her, blushing so intensely you don't understand how you haven't just passed out.

 

The both of you groan loudly when you grind together, her legs locking around your hips tightly. She pushes herself onto you and you think _you_ go blind for a second. She screams again, the noise loud and piercing in the quiet room. You think you hear Lemon barking and snuffling at the door, but you could not care less about that animal right now.

 

The two of you roll together and you press as closely to her as you can. Everything is dark and too warm, you can feel her grabbing at your back as you grind into her. Her heartbeat is loud, louder than yours. You try to kiss but you're both too far gone to be able to command that much control of your motor functions.

 

You settle for her neck, her breath loud in your ear. Her head is pressed hard against your mattress, her body curving up and into you. Her nails are hard and biting, scratching and leaving welts in your back. You hold her closely, pressing together until you think you may not even be two separate people anymore, your skin stitched together.

 

You're welded to her and she's stuck into you, getting under your skin. Your circulatory system fusing with her nervous, possibly as one being.

 

You feel her give a final clench before she's shouting your name among other explicatives. You follow her over the edge, your blood searing in your veins.

 

You lay there together, her completely limp and you still clutching and curled around her. You're both breathing heavily, her hands threading aimlessly through your sweat-slick hair.

 

She breathes out soft words of affection before she eventually falls asleep. You lay there, awake and clinging to her for hours, never saying the words that scrolled through your head continuously the entire day. They're seared to your brain, branded on the outside like a stamp.

 

 

Every part of your body is screaming that you're so far in love with her, it physically takes a toll out on you. Every part of your being but your mouth is verbalizing this, your pores screaming out that she's wonderful and you're more than head over heels in love with her. It's more akin to you free-floating in space, not knowing which way is up anymore. It's only been a month, a month! You can't feel like this for someone after only such a short time. And yet, your brain is overridden by your heart and you apparently _can_ feel like this after such a short time.

 

You love Terezi Pyrope, and you hate that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was completely self-indulgent on my part


	10. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8tracks

**More Heart Than Brains: 10**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you remember what it's like to see.

 

You recall the smooth feelings of your eyes rolling around in your skull. You remember how when you were tired or hadn't blinked in a while, your eyes would water when you shut them. The salty tears would stick to your eyelashes, fall onto the hollows of skin beneath your eyes. Your skin would feel cold and your eyes, itchy. Of all the sensations of having eyes, this is the one you would think most accurately described being able to see.

 

Like now. You're lying on something that's soft and smells distinctly like Karkat. You're stuck fast to him, your legs sore and arms numb from him laying on you. You're limp as you try to push your arms out, trying not to wake him. You lift one arm and rub your eyes, press your implants far into your skull. You remember the bursts of fake colors that used to show up when you had eyes.

 

Instead, all that happens is that tears leak out and cling to your skin and lashes. You blink and rub at them, clear the salty liquid away.

 

Karkat stirs and holds you harder, closer. His face is pressed in between your collarbone and breast, both areas sore. You smile and grope a little for his head, tugging his hair lightly. He groans and presses harder to you.

 

“Kar...” you whisper softly. He makes another groaning sound but you can feel him lift his head a little.

 

The skin he leaves is cold without the heat he radiates. “C'mon, I need you to tell me what time it is.”

 

You feel him shuffle and maneuver so he can presumably see his clock without letting go of you. “It's 9 AM. Fuck.” He returns to you and tries to force the two of you back into the position you were just in.

 

“It's Sunday, right?” you ask, prying him off of you.

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by the fabric it's now pressed into. You feel him sit up. “Shit, it's visitor's day.”

 

“Hmm?” you ask as you lean over to him. You run your hands from his hips to his bellybutton.

 

He flinches away. “Already?” he asks.

 

You shake your head. “I think I'm good for a little while. I think I had cobwebs between my legs before last night.” He is unamused by your joke. You grin, your hand feeling over his stomach again. “I felt something on here last night, though...”

 

He grabs your hand and presses it with meaning to a spot on his abdomen. There's a lapse in the flesh, old and definitely not caused by your nails. It's thicker and knotted, an ancient scar warping his flesh.

 

“Gotcha,” you breathe.

 

He's silent for a few seconds. “Aren't you going to ask?”

 

“I thought you were going to tell me.”

 

“Well, I didn't know if you wanted to know.”

 

“Fine. Why is there a huge scar on your stomach,” you say, not asking, more stating.

 

“Remember that friend I have? The one living in the same crazy camp as _your_   friend?” he asks. You hear him ruffle his hair and breathe out a sigh.

 

“Yeah, Gamzee.”

 

“Right. Well, we found out he was extremely mentally unstable after he eventually snapped and thought I was attacking him. He stabbed me with a kitchen knife.”

 

You think it's terrible that that happened, but you don't tell him so. Instead, you grin and say, “Couldn't think of a more wimp-ass story than that?”

 

“Fuck you, my best friend stabbed me.” He sounds angry.

 

“I blew my best friend's hand off.” You sound bright and superior.

 

He's silent. “Do we really have to try to outdo each other again? Can't we just agree that we both had terrible childhoods?” He gets off the bed, you hear him shuffle on pants or underwear, some kind of fabric passes over skin.

 

He throws something at you, the cloth of a large shirt draping over your face. You pull it off and the bed bounces from him sitting down next to you. “Put a goddamned shirt on,” he mumbles.

 

You grin and slide it on over your head. It's one of his huge, dumb sweater-shirts. It's probably gray or navy blue, some unassuming and conservative color. “Can't stand to look at me anymore?”

 

 

He doesn't answer, just shoves you over. You laugh and he asks if you want to visit Gamzee with him.

 

You're apprehensive. “I haven't really been in that place for a while. I know Vriska and Tavros go there a lot to see Aradia, and that is precisely why I do not like to go.”

 

“Sollux drives me every Sunday to see Gamzee. He also takes his brother there for physicals and medication and shit.” You feel him sit up. “C'mon, I want you to meet Gamzee.”

 

You think about it, weigh the pros and cons. Pros would be that Karkat is taking you to a new point in your relationship, he wants you meet someone he considers a close friend. You would also see Vriska and Tavros again, you miss them. You'd see Aradia.

 

Communicating with your old friends in the flesh would also fall under the 'cons' portion of the list as well. You're not afraid of meeting them, far from it. You and Vriska still communicate regularly, but, a lot of things changed between the two of after you lost your eyes. Tavros was in for 2 months and then sent to a _different_ part of the hospital for 3 before he was let out. Aradia was in the hospital for 2 years before she was released to her parents.

 

You remember getting party stuff and a cake with Vriska. She wheeled Tavros into Aradia's room while you blindly threw streamers around and stuck 3 party hats on your head. You'd strapped two to Tavros, him laughing and correcting your hands the entire time. Vriska had tied streamers around Tavros's chair and Aradia's bed. You remember hearing the machines that whirred and kept her alive. The sounds her breathing and feeding tubes made were drowned out by the crappy music Vriska played. You'd celebrated Aradia's 14th birthday while she was comatose.

 

She woke up a month later, bits of streamers and party stuff still clinging her bed and the walls. She was in rehab for another 2 years before she got all of her muscles and most of her mind back.

 

Then, when Aradia turned 18, her parents placed her in a mental facility because her mind wasn't healed enough for functioning in everyday society.

 

You haven't stood next to Vriska in 3 years. Maybe it's time you rectify that.

 

Then again, there's really no telling if she'll be there. Maybe she stopped visiting and she's just telling you that Aradia's doing fine. Maybe Aradia stopped hearing voices all together and got released. Maybe you belong in a mental facility for ignoring the people who were your only friends until you were 18.

 

You heave a deep breath and flop down next to him. He lays down too and pulls you closer, curls into you wordlessly. “I guess you'd wanna meet my friends, too, huh?” you ask, your fingers threading through his hair.

 

He shrugs. “Your friends sound worse than mine. Even more so, _yours_ are allowed out in public.”

 

“Mine are all physically disabled.”

 

“Bullshit, you're fucking blind and kick ass on a daily basis.”

 

You try to push down the smile, but it twitches on your face regardless of your wishes. You wonder what led up to this, last night. “Three days ago you were freaking out about me stealing your blessed virginity or some shit.” You blow into his hair. “Did something change, sir?”

 

He starts to say something but only manages to make a gurgling sound. You chuckle and he clears his throat. “I just like to get a firm grip on the situation.”

 

“Your grip is pretty firm already. In fact, I think I have a bruise--”

 

“Terezi, please stop,” he mumbles into the shirt, sounding completely mortified. You can feel how warm his face grows and you pinch his shoulder. He's too warm, too hot. You wonder how he can even manage existing in the summer. He's like a fucking furnace.

 

“C'mon, I wasn't expecting anything like that to happen yesterday.”

 

“Neither was I, really.” He sighs, his breath super-heating a spot on your shirt for a second before the warmth dissipates. “That's a lie. I wanted to, I just didn't really expect to pull it off.”

 

You pull away from him a little bit to face him. “You _have_ had girlfriends before, right? You've mentioned them a little, but they do _exist,_ right?”

 

“God-fucking-dammit, Terezi I have had girlfriends before.”

 

You settle back down. “Alright good. So have I.”

 

“Wait, what.”

 

“Nothing, dear. Wanna go to sleep again?”

 

“Not really.”

 

You can't help smiling around him. He chatters silently, mumbles words and sentences that might be paragraphs and stories. The threads of the shirt hold the weaves of the story, keeps them from your ears. You don't think Karkat really means for you to hear what he's saying, anyway.

 

You're quiet for a long time. Then, “So is Sollux your other friend with schizophrenia?”

 

He speaks quietly, something rare for him. His mouth is pressed into you, his voice muffled by the shirt. “He doesn't want people to know. He's a lot better than when we were children, though, he's still on medicine for it.”

 

“What was he like?”

 

He squeezes you a little harder, unconsciously. “I don't really like to talk about it.”

 

You pity him, just a little. Your heart swells a little too much for your chest so you swallow a few breaths. “It's okay. I won't tell Sollux I know.”

 

“It was stupid to tell Jade about that,” he says, his voice rising in anger and tempo as he finishes the sentence. “I was competing with a fucking kid.”

 

“I don't think she would have been as complacent, had you not, Karkat. Kids like to relate with people. Hell, everyone does. That's why everyone likes you so much, I think.” You smile. “You've never thought you were better than someone in your whole life.”

 

“That's not true,” he mumbles into you. “I think I'm better than my brother. I think I'm hella better than that insane friend of yours.”

 

“Vriska? That's fine, she thinks she's better than you too.”

 

“She hasn't even met me.”

 

“She doesn't have too.”

 

–

 

Sollux, apparently, possesses a key to Karkat's apartment.

 

You discover this tidbit of information when Sollux busts open the door to Karkat's room. The two of you had fallen asleep and had not heard the tall man enter the space.

 

“God _damn_!” Sollux exclaims. The sound of the door being smashed against the wall punches through the air. Karkat jumps up from your arms while you just sort of lie there, still clutching the space he'd been in. You roll over to face the door and hear someone stumbling, then, something fragile gets knocked over but doesn't break.

 

Karkat shouts at Sollux to get the fuck out, doesn't he ever knock?

 

Sollux stumbles out, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

You sit up and tell Karkat you'll go with him and he doesn't understand for a minute. His mind quickly catches up and he asks you what you're going to wear. You say you'll just put on yesterday's clothes, there's really not an issue with that. You think you should shower. You ask if he wants to come with you.

 

He sputters and you find it completely adorable. He's embarrassed pretty much about being an adult, so you just get up and give him a soft pat on his shoulder. You track your way down his hall and trip a little over the lip to his bathtub. You scrub the sheets off of yourself and generally make yourself presentable while Karkat and Sollux shout at each other.

 

You dance your way from the warm bathroom to Karkat's now-cooler room. You hunt for your clothes on the floor, finding that many of them did not get too far. You feel a little grungy, but you'll get used to day-old clothes in no time. You were the master of reusing clothes as a child and you still hold that title fiercely. No one can rewear shirts like you can.

 

You leave his room and hear Lemon trot over. She stands on your right and follows your side, her tail fanning your legs. You grab her harness and let her walk you to Karkat. He pulls out a chair for you, and you sit, your legs crossing under the table.

 

Sollux asks you how the fuck you're doing.

 

You grin at him. “Fantastic, kid. How 'bout you?”

 

“My friends are using me as a slave to transport them places, same as usual.”

 

“Can you transport me too? In my defense, I haven't called you a “lisping asshole” yet in our relationship.”

 

“You're right. KK, she's rapidly gaining friend points on you.”

 

“I hate you both,” Karkat mumbles from your left. “You're two of the biggest ignoramuses I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.” You hear a plate get put down on the table. The scent of fried batter and sugar wafts to your nostrils.

 

You grope for a donut, pushing the circle of oil and frosting past your teeth as soon as you make contact. The three of you eat and you hear Karkat give Lemon a piece. You ask him if he has any meat in the house.

 

He says yes and gives her some chicken. Your girl appears to grow even fonder of your boy, as evidenced by the curses he emits at her grateful licking.

 

Sollux mentions that visiting hours are going to be over pretty soon if you two keep playing house.

 

Karkat tells him to go fuck himself, but the three of you cram into Sollux's car anyway. The contraption feels and rides as if it were held together with tape and prayers. A tire may or may not have popped off during the ride. Lemon sits patiently with her head in your lap most of the trip, the backseat somewhere extremely unpleasant to be.

 

It takes an hour to drive there, Sollux and Karkat bickering bitterly the entire way there. They both seem to be in a constant state of ire, their words filled with venom and sharp enough to sting.

 

They don't seem worse for the wear, though.

 

They laugh at the awful jokes they make about each other's mothers and brothers. They punch each other, too, the dull thumps of flesh beating cloth punching through the _shitty_ music ringing out of Sollux's tinny speakers.

 

His car is a complete piece of shit and you wonder a lot about him.

 

He parks the car while Karkat stops your cane from whacking out the taillights of the surrounding cars, your stomach is in knots, surpassing butterflies and skipping straight away to nausea. Your mouth curls up in a genuine smile, regardless; your excitement at the current situation is just _bursting_.

 

They take you inside. Past the initial entrance desk, Sollux leaves you two. He says he needs to go and get his brother, he dropped him off yesterday for overnight observation. Karkat asks if he's gonna take him home. Sollux says yeah, but he'll back later to get KK.

 

Karkat leads you down a crowded hallway. Everything smells like dust and antiseptic, the scent of a sickness not of the body that spikes the air. The smell of rotted minds and unwell people flows into the hallway from their rooms, the hollow sounds of your steps mixing with the soft thumps of the slippered feet of the patients.

 

Lemon gets coos and pats from patients. Her harness does not deter people, and Karkat has to stop because of the people wanting the comfort of your animal. Someone asks you what her name is, and you tell them. You also tack on that she is a service animal, please do not touch her.

 

Many back off, the slide of plastic soles on linoleum floors. Lemon licks one girl who was petting her, and she screams. An older person, by the sound of their voice, yells that why is that animal in here? She's dirty and doesn't belong.

 

Karkat tugs you away and down the corner.

 

You remember why you don't come here often.

 

He brings you into an open area, the mumblings and cries of happiness of the patients and visitors saturate the air. He stops moving and you can feel him scanning the area, searching for someone.

 

He still has your hand, so he takes you to the left, him and Lemon pulling you along. He sits you down on a large couch, and a gravelly voice pushes out a greeting.

 

“Hey, best friend,” the voice says softly, the vibrations harsh and sick.

 

You hear Karkat hug him and mutter, “Hey, Gamzee, you're still as sick as the day I met you.”

 

Karkat sits next to you and Gamzee sits on a metal folding chair across from him. The scraping of the hard rubber and hollow metal rings on the tiled flooring.

 

 

“Nah, brother, I'm better. This other girl here, though, man she's weird as all hell,” Gamzee lets out, his drawling, gravelly voice feeling like it relaxes Karkat. “They brought her to my wing for a week before taking her back. She was freaking everyone else out, she would babble on and on about how the end is nigh.”

 

You think of Aradia.

 

Karkat gives a short laugh. “You do the same thing.”

 

“Nah, bro. The end isn't nigh, it's already upon us. I just haven't heard back, as of late.”

 

You're silent through the whole exchange, this part of Karkat's life... unsettling, for you. He and his childhood friend who tried to _keep_ Karkat in childhood is casually discussing the voices of doom and gloom he hears whispering to him. Karkat doesn't miss a beat, returning Gamzee's ramblings and, what seems to be, propaganda, back at him.

 

Gamzee eventually asks who you are, speak up, sister.

 

You open your mouth to say something, but Karkat beats you to the punch.

 

“This is Terezi, Gamzee. I told you about her last time I came.” Karkat's voice is apprehensive, you detect lilts of fear and pangs of anger. He puts a hands on your knee and Lemon shuffles a little from her position draped over your feet.

 

Gamzee makes a noise of understanding. “Hey, sis, Kar's told me a lot about you,” he states, his voice smiling. The tone is caught between lazy and friendly, and angry and malicious. “You're the motherfucker who lost her eyes.”

 

You frown at him, feeling Karkat's disapproval next to you. He doesn't say anything, waits for you to react.

 

“You're the kid who stabbed their best friend.”

 

You can hear the way his eyes narrow at you. You can taste the way the air wreaks of an insanity that's buried beneath many layers anti-psychotics and therapy. You can feel the way the insanity leaks out of the cracks in his fractured personality disorder.

 

“You telling me you never did anything you didn't want to, sis.” You hear the metal chair creak as he leans forward. Lemon makes a small bark at him coming close. He smells of clay and artificial air, a scent that has certainly been long-since embedded in his flesh. This institution would not allow him to have face paint and soda. “I bet your offender list is a helluva lot longer than mine.”

 

You squeeze Karkat's hand on your knee, a warning. You hear him begin to talk, but your nails bite him to tell him he shouldn't. “I put criminals in jail.”

 

“Putting people in cages is worse than everything my shit's been through.”

 

“I'm not trying to justify my actions through intimidation.”

 

You hear the chair creak again as he leans back, the horrid smell of a riverbed going with him. “Take off those fuckin' glasses, girl. Let's see how great you aren't.”

 

You're never this easy to rile up. Your teeth are grinding together slowly, the pressure intense and hurting your mouth. The hand not breaking Karkat's fingers is in a hard fist around your cane.

 

You're about to rip off your glasses, when Karkat pries his hand out from your vice-like grip.

 

“Gamzee, I think that's fucking _enough.”_

 

Gamzee doesn't miss a beat, his voice sounding genuinely disappointed. “Aww, man, don't kill it already. I was just being more “personable.” Like you always tell me to be.”

 

“Dammit, Gamzee, you know you're not being personable. Don't try and pull this shit with me, if I can't bring people to meet you, you're hurting me and yourself more than them.”

 

Gamzee's voice is sly. “I like seeing new people instead of the same motherfuckin faces all the time.” He continues the sentence after a moment, his words wet. “So, when's my stay here up?”

 

Karkat sighs, tired and frustrated. “You know it'll be up when you get better.”

 

“Brother, if the voices left me, I think I'd try and follow them.”

 

–

 

You leave Gamzee's wing after a few hours with him. Everything about the boy is frightening and spiteful. He is hateful, putrid, disgusting, a pig, his voice is hard like Karkat's but the gravel is made of spikes and not something that is kind to your ears.

 

He is also dim, immature, sheltered, a fanatic, and soft. The words he uses for Karkat only come from the kindest of sources, his love and admiration for his friend prevailing through just how _sick_ he really is. He never addresses you by your name, using only 'sis' and 'girl,' something that could only be described as belittling to you, despite how affectionate the terms are. You hold contempt for the sharp man, while he _demands_ respect.

 

You also see how his angry words are curbed by Karkat's.

 

He's just as irate and cantankerous with Gamzee as he is with you and Sollux. His words are sharp and piercing, but there's a distinct difference when he uses them on Gamzee. He aims the knives and bits of broken glass between the cracks in Gamzee's personality, hurting superficially, not causing any more damage. He's mean and his words are pointed, yet he's being kind in his original hatefulness.

 

Gamzee seems to only have affection for Karkat. When Sollux returns to come and see him, Gamzee plays what he did with you. He mocks Sollux and his lisp. He says his brother should be here with him, not allowed to walk around, embarrassing himself.

 

Sollux tells him to go fuck himself. Karkat pats Gamzee, probably on the shoulder or back.

 

You tell Karkat that you want to go and see Aradia. You're willing to endure your old friends if it means you'll get away from the man made of glass and paint and malice. Gamzee's smile is in his words, not kind and most certainly full of superiority.

 

Karkat asks Sollux to take you, he wants to stay and talk to Gamzee. Sollux says sure, anything to get away from Gamzee. You tell Sollux to number of Aradia's room and he leads you out of the wing.

 

“So, what's up with you and Gamzee?” you ask once you're out of earshot. Lemon trots next to you, your and Sollux's arms twined together. Your cane is clutched in your hand against your chest.

 

“Nothing,” Sollux replies simply, his voice even.

 

“Is he like that with everyone?”

 

“Insane? A certified jackass? Pretty much.”

 

“I see.”

 

“No you don't.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Sollux stops, the lack of motion jarring you. He removes his arm from yours and seizes you by the shoulder. He spins you so you're facing him, Lemon fretting around your legs.

 

“No, you don't get it. He wasn't always so _terrible._ When we were teenagers, he got crazy. But, apparently, he was always like that, it just got _worse._ He's always had the voices, but they only started to drive him to do things after years of listening.” Sollux's voice is rushed and a little passionate, the words he spits and rasps short and powerful.

 

“That still doesn't explain it.”

 

Sollux breathes out, and you can hear him run a hand through his hair. “He only lets Karkat talk to him like a fucking human being. Everyone else he plays mind-games with. He's gotten really fucking fantastic at it, he can attack anyone and it's scary.” He breathes out again, releasing you. “I prefer to not be around him anymore.”

 

You're quiet for a second before answering. “Were you two friends when you were younger?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. We were both friends with Karkat, we were misfits. We didn't fit in.”

 

You quirk the corners of your mouth in. “Yeah, I can sympathize.”

 

He gives a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess the blind girl wasn't going to have many friends.”

 

You're surprised, you thought he would have known more about you. “Sollux, I went blind when I was 12.”

 

He's quiet, the only sounds are the aches and squeals of patients and equipment. Then, “Well, fuck.”

 

You laugh. “What, did you think I just didn't have eyes?”

 

“I don't know, maybe! If I get a fucking lisp and a rotten brain, why can't you be born without eyes?”

 

You give little chuckles, trying to hide your laughter. You fail, mostly. “Oh my God, I thought you were smart, but that's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard.”

 

He growls. “Well, how the fuck did you lose your _eyes_? I don't think they're the kind of thing you'd generally misplace.”

 

You sober quickly, clearing your throat. “Well, I have a friend in here for brain damage. Put the pieces together, numb nuts.”

 

He's quiet and you can hear the gears in his head grinding together. Then, “What kind of accident was it?”

 

“I'm tired of telling people, you can ask Aradia when we see her. I'm sure she'll be happy to talk.” You grope for his arm and tug, urging him to continue to lead you.

 

He does, but his pace is slower. “You know, Karkat hasn't really told me much about you.”

 

You smile, small and to yourself. “It's not his place to tell.”

 

“Are you kidding, he loves the sound of his own voice. I asked what the deal was with you and he just said he didn't know.” His voice takes on a mischievous, wicked tone. “Evidently, he did. I don't think he'd let just anyone see his candy ass if he didn't know pretty much everything there was to know about them.”

 

You open your grin, but your mind feels guilty. He doesn't know everything about you, and you don't really want him too. You prefer to keep many aspects of your childhood and your friends swept under the bed.

 

“Well,” you reply, “I think he found a loophole in your statement, sir.”

 

“How so, ma'am?” he asks, his voice stuffed and sarcastic.

 

“I am quite incapable of seeing his candy ass, and I do believe that he is incapable of knowing anything about me that I do not wish him too.”

 

“Was that another fucking blind joke, because if it was, I'm shoving you into a pool.”

 

You pull a faux frown. “You're threatening to injure a high-profile person.”

 

“The only person who gives a shit about your track record is Kankri, and I'm not exactly inclined to trust his judgment.”

 

“That boy has _fine_ taste.”

 

Sollux doesn't continue his fight. Instead, he announces your arrival at Aradia's room.

 

You take a deep breath and step inside.

 

There are a few things that assail you right off the bat. The room is bright, in the sense that you can feel the sun filtering through the blinds. The warmth compliments Aradia well, mimicking her sunny personality. The next thing that strikes you is the sharp intake of breath and the wicked laugh.

 

“Terezi!” Aradia shouts, her voice smooth and slow as usual. She jumps at you and wraps her arms around your ribcage, her face pressing into your chest. You release Lemon to return Aradia's hug.

 

 

You grin, open-mouthed and sincere. “Long time, no see, Aradia.”

 

She mumbles something into your shirt, but it's drowned out by Vriska's wicked drawl. “Hey, look who crashed the party!” Despite the rudeness of her words, she grabs you and Aradia into a tight hug. You hear Tavros voice his distress from the floor, but he's no where you can get to.

 

Vriska pulls away from you, hand still on your shoulder. She smells of clove cigarettes and raspberries, the scent that still clings to your memories of childhood. “When I called you a few days ago, you gave me a weak-ass excuse as to why you couldn't come again. What changed?”

 

You run a hand through your hair, listen to Lemon lick Tavros. “Karkat talked me into it.”

 

You can hear her smile in her words, feel the lilts of her voice and the sharpness of her words. “So is _this_ the new boy toy of Terezi Pyrope?”

 

“Hmm?” you ask at the same moment Sollux spits out a noise of disgust.

 

“Oh, _fuck no_ ,” Sollux rasps. “I will never be confused for that pathetic excuse of a human being.”

 

“Oh,” you say, grinning even wider than before. “No, Karkat's here visiting his friend. I left them alone.”

 

“More like she left because he's a fucking psycho.” Sollux's words are flat and sarcastic.

 

Aradia pipes up. “That's not fair, especially to me.”

 

You can taste the way Sollux's stare latches onto Aradia, smell the way he leaks both disdain and perhaps a small fascination. “You're Aradia, right? Super, Terezi told me you could tell me the reason you were in here and why she gets the right to make blind jokes every 30 fucking seconds.”

 

You make a show of rolling your eyes behind your glasses, but it most likely goes unnoticed.

 

“Only every 30 seconds?” Vriska pipes in. “She used to make them much more often, when she actually spoke to us on a regular fucking basis.”

 

You frown at Vriska while she laughs at her own joke. Aradia gives a chuckle and Tavros laughs in between the coos he gives to Lemon. It feels good to be around them again, familiar. It feels like it did when you were a child, before your accident. Simpler, when everything was much more funny and much less worrisome.

 

It also feels like after your accident, when everything was sickly and dark and still just as hilarious.

 

Aradia tugs you over to her bed, where she makes you sit down next to her. You feel Sollux sit on the other side of Aradia, pushing the bed down with his moderate weight. You don't hear Vriska sit, but you assume she's perched on the arm of Tavros's wheelchair, just as she did when you were younger.

 

Aradia pats your knee, smelling of baby soap and burnt, chemically curled hair. “Terezi, it's been a while since I saw you last.”

 

“Same here, 'Rai.”

 

“Terezi, those jokes stopped being funny ages ago,” Tavros says, his tone just as stuttering as usual. He sounds stronger, though, than he does over the phone. Maybe Vriska didn't wreck him as bad as you thought she did.

 

“I just want to make coming back here and not stranding you and KK a worthwhile choice,” Sollux cuts in, clearing his throat. “ _Can_ Aradia tell me what happened?”

 

Aradia says yes, but Vriska says that she wants to tell it. You shoot a warning look in her direction, and you just get a laugh back. Tavros tells her to let Aradia tell it, she hardly ever gets to share with people who aren't patients or doctors.

 

“F _-iiiiiiii_ ne,” Vriska relents. She ruffles Tavros's hair and he bats her hands away.

 

Aradia launches into her story, from the moment she met you and Vriska. You were all young and misfits. Vriska was violent and you laughed too loudly and too much, no one wanted to play with you. Tavros and Aradia were the weird foreign kids with accents who sat in the back of the room and talked about dead things and animals.

 

Aradia fast forwards to the accident.

 

“There are some things in life, you don't really forget,” Aradia says, her voice lowering. You hear her get off the bed and shuffle around for something underneath. A few moments later, she rises to sit back down next to you, holding what sounds like a small box.

 

“When I woke up,” Aradia starts, her hands shuffling inside of the box. You hear a large book being opened, the one you, Vriska, and Tavros has compiled for her for when she woke up. “I couldn't remember anything. Even now, remembering things are getting harder and harder, and trying to do math actually hurts. My memories came back as I went through therapy and just over time, but there's still a lot of blank spots, mostly from right before the accident--and my childhood is just fuzzy clouds.”

 

You can hear the smile in Aradia's voice, this next time she speaks. “My friends made me a scrap book so I wouldn't forget. I think mostly Tavros made it, but you can see parts where Vriska added to it. She definitely bought all the stuff for it, and Terezi added all the texture stuff and scratch-and-sniff.”

 

She turns a page, the scent of a decade-old perfume still clinging to the paper. You eagerly reach for the book, feeling the raised bumps and craft stickers you stuck on. Numerous stickers of sheep and and dragons cover the page, their outlines not having faded with time.

 

“This is the ugliest thing I've ever seen,” Sollux mutters, his lisp mangling the sentence. He tugs the book from your grip and flips through a few pages, different smells and sounds assailing your senses.

 

Aradia's not put out by Sollux's doom and gloom. “I know, and that's why I love it. My friends still thought of me, even when I was incapable of thinking for myself.”

 

“It wasn't that bad,” Tavros asserts, pressing into the conversation.

 

“Yes it was,” Vriska cuts in.

 

“No, it wasn't. The doctor said she just needed time.”

 

“Tavros, she was a vegetable for 15 months.”

 

You tell them to shut up and take it outside.

 

You can almost hear the way Vriska's mouth curls up into a wicked grin, one of her trademarks. Your smiles were always categorized as sharp and insane, while hers were pretty and mischievous. “Tavros, do you want to leave them alone? Not-Karkat seems to be pretty taken with Aradia's book.”

 

You can hear Tavros's grumbling frown as he speaks. “I want to talk to Terezi.”

 

“You can talk to her later, we'll wait by the front door where that cat always stays.”

 

Tavros relents and you hear Vriska wheel him away.

 

You want to talk to Tavros too, maybe feel his face. Give Vriska a lick and a punch, maybe lie next to her if you didn't think she'd slip a pocket knife between your ribs.

 

Aradia pouts out that she wants to talk to Tavros, wants him to remind her what happened. You feel bad, so terrible. You really fucked it up with your friends. Vriska was terrible when you were smaller, so bad was she that the accident made her so she could only see the right. Tavros was taller than everyone else your age, and now he's been folded in half. He was a shrinking violet when you met him, and he was never an unhappy child. He was the brightest kid you've ever met, but he's dimmed some now that he's older.

 

And Aradia. You think you feel the worst about Aradia, she broke the worst. At first glance, there's nothing wrong with her. She speaks clearly, the words that fall out of her mouth, poetry. Her mind is broken though, and you know her ramblings and simple equivalencies are a result of that. She has trouble focusing and reasoning, so she spews constant prose. Her memory has been harmed beyond repair, so she stays here so she doesn't harm herself or those around her.

 

She reiterates, for Sollux, what caused a memory that even she can't forget.

 

“Tavros got a call from Vriska that told him to come over so we could all play these games we loved. We LARPed as kids, but we didn't do it so much together after I woke up. Tavros was in a wheelchair and I was in physical therapy for a while and Terezi couldn't see.” Aradia shakes her head, the artificial curls bouncing the smell of her baby shampoo and perm. “I'm off track, I'm babbling again.”

 

“No, please tell me more about how Terezi's blind, as if I hadn't heard enough about that,” Sollux states dryly, ceasing his flipping of the scrapbook.

 

“I don't appreciate that, you know,” Aradia rebuffs.

 

You stay silent as they exchange a few words back and forth. Aradia's frame of mind is built for this, a pseudo-intellectual battle filled with clever words and small clips.

 

“Anyway, I went with Tavros because Vriska was horribly mean to him. I think she had a crush on him. In fact, I'm almost positive she always had a crush on him, she just never did anything about it until we were adults.”

 

“Aradia, could you skip over that?” you ask hurriedly. You'd rather it if she didn't expound upon your, Vriska's, and Tavros's relationship _quite_ that much.

 

She bounces her curls with a nod and says yes. “Vriska's sister had a friend who gave Vriska fireworks and Vriska thought it would be a great idea to go and blow something up. Well, around Terezi and Vriska's houses, there was this family that had a mailbox that was a smaller version of their house. When someone has something like that, they're just _asking_ for someone to come over and break it.” She pauses and you can hear her collecting her thoughts.

 

“Oh!” Aradia exclaims. She rifles through the book for a moment before coming to a specific page. She hands the book to Sollux, the sound of her finger jamming into the page repeatedly very loud in the mostly quiet room.

 

“What am I looking at?” Sollux asks not unkindly. He takes the book and you ask what he's looking at again.

 

“I'm having a bad day,” Aradia confesses to you. “I just gave him the article on the accident.”

 

Oh. “Oh.” You grin, wide and splitting. “How have you been, Aradia?”

 

“Well, I've been getting my hair done. Do you like it?” She then remembers that your eyes were disposed of as medical waste. “Here, feel it!”

 

She grabs your hand and brings it to feel the mass of curls adorning her head. It's puffy and definitely a change from the ram rod straight hair she has naturally. Just another thing that's different than when you were younger. You talk about how your lives have been going for the past few years, hers unsurprisingly as uneventful as yours is eventful.

 

Sollux finishes reading the articles and whistles, low and long.

 

“That's some heavy shit,” Sollux says eventually.

 

“It was more sharp and painful, kind of a holy fire and retribution scenario,” you reply, pulling your hand away from Aradia's nest of curls.

 

The two of you talk for a while longer, mostly you and Sollux listening to Aradia spew words and her mind. Her fractured psyche voices from the deepest parts of her mind, leaking through the cracks and gaps. You remember how she was like before losing a year and gaining the ability to prophecise. Her own brand of doom and gloom was magnified by her unbroken year with only herself for company, the voices she hears whispering to telling her of doom to come and the end of the world.

 

She's still a ray of sunshine, though, and the conversation drifts back to her accident.

 

“I can hardly remember it. You know, a piece of the mailbox is actually lodged in my head? The doctors didn't want to risk taking it out so they left it in,” she offers, her voice pensive.

 

“She tells everyone that, it's what she loves to talk about,” you reply, small laughs shaking your words.

 

“I think it's a fascinating fact about me and how we can't really leave the past all the way behind.”

 

“Yes, because Aradia's grey matters.”

 

“Was that a pun? I think it was a pun but I can't really tell.”

 

Sollux cuts in. “That was a piss poor pun, I've heard better from Karkat.”

 

You make a face of mock disgust. “He never jokes; never compare my grasp of wit to his clumsy fumbling!”

 

“My wit is fine, my jokes are just too advanced for a bunch of devolved apes such as yourselves.”

 

Everyone's heads whip around to face the door frame. Even you turn to focus on the feeling of Karkat standing there with a stern disapproval and perpetual annoyance.

 

“Hey, KK, we were just talking about you,” Sollux says, his voice smiling with venom and friendship.

 

You hear Karkat fall into a chair. “Yeah, what else is new?” He groans, probably rubbing at his face. “You must be Aradia.”

 

“Lovely to meet you! I think Vriska mentioned you once or twice, because Terezi told her about you. You're dating her, right? Like a boyfriend girlfriend type deal?”

 

There's a pause where you hear Sollux flip through the book again. “Do I look like a girl to you?”

 

Aradia shakes her head no, her hair puffing against you. “Not particularly.”

 

You hear Karkat rise. “Well, as much fun as today has been, I'd really love to get going now, if you all don't mind.”

 

You stand up immediately. “Yeah, I think it's time we got going.”

 

Aradia's words are inflated with her pout. “You just got here.”

 

“Aradia, I've been with you for 2 hours.”

 

She falls silent and Sollux says he wants to stay and talk to Aradia. She brightens at that, the words she lets out happy and thankful.

 

Karkat bitches about who's going to take you home. Sollux suggests taking a cab like most other people for once in your fucking life. Aradia suggests asking Vriska and Tavros for a lift.

 

You are vehemently opposed to taking a ride from Vriska and all for a ride in a taxi. Lemon snuffles and you know Karkat is eying her as he shoots down the cab ride. You can tell he wants to meet Vriska and Tavros very badly, and you guess you should just stop putting it off.

 

You thread your fingers with his and squeeze his hand hard enough to fracture a bone, you think. His voice comes out as strained and pained when he says goodbye. The two of you walk down the hallway with Lemon on your left and Karkat on your right.

 

Once you are what Karkat dubs as a sufficient distance from the room, he asks you why you tried to break his fucking fingers.

 

You grin, probably wider than what is considered socially acceptable. “I don't want to ask Vriska for a ride.”

 

“Well, neither do I, but I am not getting into a small car with a stranger and your dog.”

 

“My dog is so much more well-behaved than your friends.”

 

He's silent for a moment before he apologizes about Gamzee.

 

You brush the confrontation off. “It was nothing, I know what it's like to crazy friends.”

 

“Gamzee's not crazy.”

 

“Sorry, “mentally ill” was probably the term you were looking for.”

 

“Terezi, can we not joke about this,” he requests, his tone hard and strained.

 

“Who says I'm joking!? Karkat, Sollux told me he was like that with everyone who isn't you, and I don't think having a relationship like that is healthy.”

 

“Says you! You're afraid to talk to your insane friends who blew each other all to hell! Who are you to judge my relationships when you can't even fix your own!?”

 

He's breathing heavily, and you're angry. You're at the waiting room, and Tavros and Vriska are surely watching the two of you scream at each other. Lemon gives a tentative bark, shuffling fretfully by your leg,

 

You don't realize you're crying until his breathing slows and you feel the cool trail they leave on your face. You harshly pull off your glasses and angrily scrub the tears away.

 

He softens a little. “Look, I'm just going to get a cab or take a train. You can catch up with your friends. I just... need to cool off a bit.” His hand hovers over your shoulder, the breeze it causes a little cool on your over-heated skin.

 

He recoils his hand and leaves, rather hastily. You want to catch up to him and scream that he hadn't made you cry, you were just so _angry._ He just made you so mad and you're already mad and this visit has done absolutely nothing for your temperament. You take a few steps before Vriska is next to you, asking what happened.

 

“Ugh, I don't know why I started crying,” you mutter wetly as you scrub at your shells of plastic again.

 

“Shit, you haven't cried since I dropped the table on your foot,” Vriska replies, bringing you over to where her and Tavros were seated.

 

She seats you down and you press your hands to your eyes, trying to cause those fake bursts of color you know aren't going to come. The wetness on your eyelashes and skin is not nearly as pleasant this time around as it was this morning.

 

“I'm just so mad at him. He brought me here to meet his friend, _knowing full well_ that he was going to be completely off his rocker about it. And meeting Aradia again was hard and why am I telling you this, you're probably just standing there shaking your head at me.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn't avoid your problems,” Tavros suggests.

 

“Tavros, I do not avoid my fears. If I really did, I'd be a shut in afraid of the sound of her own breathing.”

 

“I guess being blind does suck,” Vriska muses, pulling you up.

 

“Shut up, Vriska,” you mutter.

 

“We'll take you home,” Tavros says, his wheels making a hollow metal sound on the linoleum flooring.

 

“I don't want to go home.”

 

“Wanna get drunk?” Vriska suggests. You think about it for a moment before you determine it to be a bad idea. Court is tomorrow. Being hung over would not be optimal.

 

“Nah, can we just go and get something to eat?” You may be an adult, but you still find a certain comfort in food.

 

Tavros says hell yes and Vriska says fuck yes. They both echo each other with a “hell fucking yes.” She takes you out to her car and helps Tavros get in, folding his wheelchair and loading it into the trunk. You get into the backseat with Lemon, her head resting in your lap. You rub her head idly, listen to Vriska boss and nag on Tavros from the front seat.

 

You pull away from the hospital and feel much worse for the wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, Vriska came out so hot
> 
> everyone is hot


	11. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is a tad long

**More Heart than Brains: 11.1**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 5 years old.

 

You watch your father as he tries to cook a meal without burning your house down. He swears in a language familiar to your ears, but uncommon to your neighborhood. The pots and pans he piles in the sink steam as he pours cold water on them, rapidly cooling the super-heated metal and Teflon. You sit there and listen to him speak, the first words you will come to remember when you think back to your childhood years from now.

 

Your brother comes in from another room and picks you up, lifting you with his thin arms. You struggle as he carries you, brings you over to your father. He shoos the two of you away, but your brother persists in trying to get his attention. He eventually stops and sighs, his frame weary as he leans over the counter and sink.

 

Kankri places you on the ground around his feet. You don't run away. Instead just sit there and watch as your brother wraps his arms around your father, holds him together. You know why he's so sad and angry right now, why Kankri cries quietly into his shirt.

 

Your father turns and hugs Kankri, his eyes shut tightly against the tears that threaten to leak out. He cracks one and sees you. He leans down to pull you into the hug, holding his dwindling family together. You struggle to get out of the firm grip holding you stuck fast to your brother. Your mother passed away two months ago. It will be years later that you will understand that it was from complications from having kids.

 

You're sad too, but not the way they are. Your mother is gone, but you're young, and find it hard to comprehend death. It's something beyond where your mind can go, and you prefer not to try. You're only five, and you start school tomorrow. Perhaps your family will get better as they mix with others who are not themselves.

 

Your father puts you to bed without supper, but its fine; no one's hungry.

 

The next morning, your father drops you off at school. You walk into the large bricked up building holding a hard plastic lunchbox. Everything on you is oversized, your steps taking on a definite waddle as you enter the classroom.

 

A short, round woman is placing kids in seats and when she sees you, she asks your name.

 

You tell it to her, and she puts you in the back, stating that V's are at the back. You sit down at a desk that's been conjoined with another little boy's, this one with goggles strapped to his head. You stare at him while the teacher frets over the other little kids.

 

After a while of your unblinking gaze, he turns his head and asks what you're doing. His words are peppered with spit and hisses.

 

 

“Are you going swimming later?” you ask, genuinely curious as to why he has one shaded lens over his eye.

 

“What?”

 

“You're wearing goggles.”

 

He frowns and tugs on one of the corded straps securing the lenses to his head. One is clear, and through it, you can see an eye that's so dark, you can't make out his pupil. The other is shaded over, but you can see a bit of his eye inside. “Light hurts my eye so I have to wear this.”

 

You're confused. “Why are they goggles?”

 

“I kept falling and breaking them so I have to wear these.”

 

“So you're not going swimming.”

 

He turns to the front of the room and covers his ears, loudly proclaiming that you're bothering him and to please stop. He speaks too loudly and it scares you a little, so when you answer, you're talking more loudly than normal.

 

It soon devolves into the two of you yelling at each other.

 

The teacher comes over and separates the two of you, placing you both on chairs in the corners of the room. Later, after everyone has arrived, you sat back down at your regular seat. He kicked your chair and you pulled the cord on his glasses repeatedly until you both were crying out of frustration and protest.

 

It would be almost a week later that you find out his name is Sollux.

 

At parent-teacher conference night, your father went to ask the teacher how you were doing. She had stated, quite plainly, that you were stubborn, rude, obnoxious, and vengeful.

 

According to your father, he'd laughed.

 

–

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 7 years old. This is the year that a major shift in your life occurs.

 

Today is the day that a new kid will be coming into your class. You're looking forward to it, someone new to take your place as the human target during recess. Finally, an end to wearing huge sweaters to cover bruises from soccer balls and fists. Sollux is excited to see if the new kid is a girl.

 

You sure hope they're not; it'll ruin your recess plan entirely.

 

You and Sollux have been friends ever since the two of you were in kindergarten together. The stubborn idiot had kept pestering you about stupid things until you'd gotten so frustrated you scribbled all over his phonics work.

 

Instead of crying or calling for the teacher, he shoved you off your chair and dragged his pencil harshly down your own paper, thoroughly destroying it.

 

Your father hands you your lunch and sets your backpack, making sure it's fixed and filled with everything you need. Kankri stands off the side, trying to decide between wearing overalls to school and getting his face punched in again or not. He's 13, your father says, he needs to stop dressing like a toddler!

 

You frown, their constant fighting putting you at a sour disposition before school. Your father finishes trying to get your brother to save his face, gives one more look-over, and loads you into the car. You're driven to school until you're old enough to go to the middle school. Then, you'll walk just like Kankri does.

 

At school, everything goes on average enough. Sollux comes in and sits down in his seat next to you. The two of you sit at the back, both equally disruptive enough that the teacher knows better than to try and separate you.

 

Sollux is smiling, a grin that makes his huge teeth stick awkwardly from his face. “Hey, KK, you ready?”

 

His lisp makes it hard to understand him, so you ask him once for him to clarify. Then, you ask him about three more times for fun until he stops talking all together. He frowns and turns to face the front of the room, his goggles flashing once as the light shifts over his face.

 

“I'm ready to go back home, if that's what you mean,” you say eventually. Sollux still doesn't respond so you kick his chair until he answers you.

 

“Karkat!” he exclaims, finally. He's clutching his seat and frowning with his mouth open. “Stop!”

 

You do.

 

Before you can say something, a kid who is way too tall for your age slumps through the door. His hair looks like tangled yarn and sticks up in weird places. His hair is a lighter brown, not something you're used to seeing when your whole family has dark black. You're more used to Sollux's bright red than anything. The boy's skin appears to be the same shade as his hair but lighter, his eyes such a bright and vibrant hue of blue, they look _purple._

 

The large man who brings the lanky boy in looks the same as his son. At least, you assume he's his son. The two mirror each other in everything but size and facial hair.

 

The teacher greets them both and asks the boy his name.

 

“Gamzee!” he proclaims, lazy and loud. His voice has a smooth drawl, distinctly southern and thick like syrup.

 

She smiles at him and brings him to sit two rows in front of you. Everyone else in class arrives, and to make Gamzee feel more at home, the teacher plays a greeting game. Everyone has to stand up, say their name and proclaim something they enjoy spending their time on.

 

A thick boy stands up and proudly states his name and hobby for the room. He enjoys playing hopscotch and watching the television. A girl stands up next and mumbles her name, declining to state anything past that her favorite color which turns out to be orange.

 

It goes on until it comes to you and Sollux.

 

He stands first, and you can hear him try to suppress his lisp. He speaks clearly and slowly, like the girl who leaves early with a woman every day for extra help and speech lessons.

 

“Sollux Captor,” he drags, slow and precise. He's the only kid to state his full name for the boy's record. “My fav-or- _ite_ thing to do is look at _in-sects._ ”

 

He sits down and you frown at his show.

 

Your teacher encourages you to stand and you do so.

 

“My name is Karkat and I like to watch movies with my dad.” You sit.

 

Gamzee turns around to look at everyone in the class as they speak, but his gaze stays paused on you and Sollux even as three other kids state their names and likes. You frown at him, thick and glowering, and he smiles back at you, dopey and sincere. Sollux remains stiff by your side.

 

Later, during recess, the new boy does not put an end to your tirade of punishment for being alive, but instead joins in in your suffering.

 

He gets picked on just as you do, and when a child throws a dodge ball at you, Gamzee kicks it away towards the soccer net set up across the field. The kids look put out and miffed, but they are easily turned off by Gamzee's eager grinning and exclamations that he loves playing games!

 

He follows you and Sollux around the playground. When recess is called in, he sits next to you for lunch. When you have to go to the board to display your penmanship, he grins and gives you a thumbs up. When you wait for your dad to pick you up after school, he waits next to you. He misses the bus.

 

You leave him there to be taken by latchkey.

 

However, your mistreatment of his votes of friendship doesn’t stop the two of you from becoming friends. Sollux and Gamzee get along well enough, mostly likely because their brothers did. Sollux and his brother were regular fixtures at your house, and soon Gamzee was assimilated by default.

 

Your life was pretty good, as far as you knew at the age of seven.

 

Then, Sollux's brother had an accident. He didn't do anything, he had weak blood vessels, all clumped together in his brain, waiting for the moment he fell and broke them.

 

It started with him complaining that food tasted funny. Then, he had trouble talking and slurred the words together. He was slow to answer when you talked to him. He tripped over nothing and his hands shook. His handwriting became something that bordered on illegible. He and his family ignored it until he started vomiting everything he could. His vision dulled and darkened, went in and out of focus and he was rushed to the hospital.

 

At the hospital, he experienced his first seizure.

 

He didn't flail and kick like they do in the movies. He looked more like he was staring at something intently. He picked and pulled at his clothing, he wrung his hands. His mouth moved as if he were saying something to himself, but no words or sounds came out. You didn't see it happen, but you heard from Sollux afterward. In the years to come, you will happen to see many of these episodes. You'll remember almost every one with an almost painful clarity, as will Sollux. His brother, Mituna, however will hardly remember them happening in the first place.

 

Your family and Gamzee's family went to stay with Sollux's. Gamzee's father wasn't around much, so he stayed with you. You hang around in the waiting room while your father consoles Sollux's parents. _It’s okay, your son will be fine. Medicine works wonders these days!_

 

Sollux's parents were worried, so very much. They weren't allowed to see him yet. The doctors had to find out what was wrong with their son. The first night, it was determined that he had something called a “hem-or-age,” and you don't really know what that is. Sollux tried to describe it too you, like getting cut in your brain and the blood giving you headaches and other problems.

 

The second night, they determined that he was having seizures. Apparently, there are different kinds and the kinds Mituna were having were called “complex-partial-seizures.” They sounded really dangerous, but the doctors told Sollux's parents that it really wasn't that bad. He ended up staying in the hospital for three days and then he was released.

 

Even though the doctors said it wasn't that bad, he wouldn't need much rehabilitation, he would be a “normal-functioning-member of so-ci-et-y,” he was never really the same. He was sad so much more than you remembered. He cries sometimes, he talks funny. Not funny like Sollux does, funny like he doesn't know _how_ to speak. He's even ruder and meaner, if that's possible, and he blurts things out and sometimes you think he doesn't mean to do it. His hands still shake and he's even more attached to Gamzee's brother than he was before, if that's possible.

 

This is when you first see just how easily breakable a person's brain is.

 

–

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 13 years old. This is the year the roof gets blown off of your house.

 

Today is the day that you need to finish your project for your computer sciences class. You'd fought tooth and nail to get into the class and have struggled to maintain your solid C+. Your inadequacy makes both you and your father frustrated; you at how you cannot grasp the scrolling codes and him at how unhappy you are with your inability to grasp the scrolling codes. Ever since your brother went to college, tensions around your house have been tightening and tightening until sometimes it feels like you're too angry to breathe.

 

And now your father is trying to distract you from finishing this project with the lure of dinner and movies. If completed correctly and well, this might be able to pull your grade into a B- or even a B. So wasting time with your family is simply something that you cannot afford right now.

 

He stands in your doorway before marching over and stepping on the switch of the power strip, effectively shutting your computer, and hopes of ever finishing this project, down.

 

You shout and curse at him. Why the fuck did he do that!?

 

Don't use that language with him. He'll kick the shit out of you if he has to.

 

You frown intensely at him, undignified and furious. He tries to console you, saying he'll tell your teachers that your computer is having troubles, you'll be fine, he'll get you another day so you can do it right; he'll talk to your teacher about it. You shrug his condolences off and tell him that you wanted to finish this yourself, and it's due tomorrow! He just destroyed hours of your work.

 

He asks you if you had really gotten anything done and you're so _angry_ that you slam your fist down onto your desk table, your thin hands making the pens and computer tower rattle.

 

You shout at him how you're going to Gamzee's house, you'll go into school with him tomorrow, you'll finish your f- _rickin_ ' project over his house.

 

He doesn't stop you as you angrily smash your notes, endless streams of code and books, along with your clothes and toothbrush, into your backpack. He moves out of the way as you jam your shoes on and fumble around on your unsteady feet. He just steps aside and doesn't say anything as you shove past him and out the door.

 

Later, you'll think on how you can't decide whether or not you wish he'd stopped you and kept your home or if you're glad he let you leave.

 

Asking any of your friends and family, they'd say were glad it happened how it had, if not, then where would they be? Well, for starters, your brother wouldn't have been shackled with a pain-in-the-ass little shit of a brother. Sollux might have made more friends or he might have not. Things might have turned out differently with Gamzee.

 

You don't know, though, You can't know. You're specialty was never foresight; rather your specialty was getting hopelessly attached to friends and forming unhealthy relationships. You're too clingy. If _only_ you’d known that from as young an age as 5, then your life would be different. Better you think. Maybe not just better for you, but for everyone else around you.

 

But this is now. Now happens to be at Gamzee's house, trying to finish up this god-fucking project. He lazes around you, easily rolling between fits of terrible poetry and bouts of genuine insight. There are a lot of things about Gamzee that slide fluidly between what most would consider normal and then not so. He usually finds residence in either end of the “not so” spectrum, rarely finding a medium ground between “highly unsettling” and “genuinely prophetic.”

 

He reeks of weed, too.

 

He's not smoking right now, but the scent clings to everything on him and _hell_ if it doesn't smell like shit. You look over at him from your place with his laptop. He grins lazily at you, his teeth crooked and ugly from years of not being taught proper hygiene. His eyes are red right now, as is usual for him, and his breath is a cross between the scent of stale sugar and weed smoke.

 

You don't finish your project the way you'd like to. You're sure half of the coding is wrong and just results in junk and takes up too much space, but you're past caring at this point. It's gotten so late into the night that if you go to sleep, you don't think you'll have enough time to dream. School's going to be a bitch in the morning.

 

However, school's not a bitch; far from it, in fact. It's too supportive and too soft.

 

You don't get to turn in your shitty project this morning. Instead, once you arrive at the building with Gamzee, you're both called into the Principal's office. You think you're in trouble and Gamzee thinks you're getting something. However, your feelings of apprehension and the pit of self-hatred in your stomach lessen a bit when you walk in and see Sollux sitting down, looking extremely somber.

 

You sit next to him, Gamzee on your other side. “Hey Sollux, what's going on.”

 

He doesn't look over at you, instead opting to stare forlornly at the patch of carpet in front of him.

 

The previously dissolved fear reassembles itself and coils uncomfortably. “Sollux, what's wrong?”

 

He doesn't turn to look at you, instead just stating simply that he's sorry.

 

You ask about what. You're beginning to sweat a little and your feet itch, like you _need_ to run and your gut feels cold like you swallowed a whole bucket of ice water.

 

He shrugs and you're called in to see the principal. Inside the room is a policeman and they tell you that there was an accident at your house. You ask what kind, and they say there was an explosion, but they don't know what caused it yet.

 

Your worry claws at your stomach and you feel sick of it. You ask about your father. The policeman says he doesn't know, and your principal says that you and your friends are excused from classes for the day to see what happened. She smiles softly at you, kind and sympathetic to whatever crisis is befalling your house. She's probably dismissing your friends with you so that you're not alone for this, whatever _this_ is.

 

You, Gamzee, and Sollux are driven to your house in a police car.

 

Rather, you're driven to what's _left_ of your house.

 

Debris is everywhere and parts are still smoking with firefighters still struggling to douse some persistent flames. Your house is left down to its foundations, the houses next to yours burned and damaged from the outburst of debris. Sollux stands on your left, staring at the remains of the house that held his childhood just as much as it held yours. Gamzee is on your right, his hand on your shoulder.

 

You stare in disbelief. Someone bombed your house? Who would even _want_ to do that, your family doesn't mean shit. It's not like you guys were high-profile citizens or anything; your father barely made enough to pay for the house and send Kankri to college.

 

Your father.

 

You jump with a disgusting punch of fear in your gut. You look over to see an ambulance with the back doors open. You run over to it, leaving Sollux and Gamzee behind to stare at what remained of your house. You only get a few feet before you're stopped by the officer who brought you. He tells you that you have to get to the hospital, and they've already contacted your brother.

 

Your heart tries to climb out your throat and fall on the officers shoes, but you manage to swallow and push it back into somewhere next to where it's supposed to be. You ask where your father is, and he says probably in the ambulance. You're allowed to ride in the back, but you really wish you hadn't.

 

Your father is nowhere to be seen; instead there's a thick plastic bag that smells of artificial polymers and antiseptic. Looking at it, you know things are literally as bad they can get without you possibly dying. You squish yourself to the opposite side of the ambulance; get as far away from the bag of your father as possible. The EMTs in the back with you try to console you and see if you're about to go into a panic attack.

 

At the hospital, they pronounce, what was left, anyway, of your father, dead.

 

You sit solemnly inside the waiting room of the hospital for your brother, who arrives an hour after you did. He doesn't cry when he hears the news, but he looks as though he's going to be ill. However, when he sees you, he bursts into some of the most pathetic tears you've ever seen.

 

He grabs you and sobs into your shirt that he can't believe you're alright. He doesn't lament the fact that your father is _gone;_ instead, he rejoices that you're alive. Gamzee and Sollux and their families show up not long after what's left of yours and pat you and mumble condolences to you and Kankri.

 

You sit through most of it only thinking about what happened. _How_ could this happen? Why you, you'd only had one parent left and now only have your brother. It doesn't really register that your father is _dead_ until you’re at home with Kankri. Your house is gone, so you're staying with the Makaras.

 

Gamzee's father isn't home often, but when he is, he's a force to be reckoned with. He's large, easy to anger, and above all, _bad at parenting._ He lets Gamzee do whatever he wants and only gives the boy repercussions when he gets him father's way. He shouts and yells at his dumb-as-a-stump son, but the kicker is that Gamzee still loves the man.

 

He thankfully keeps out of your and Kankri's ways. He prefers to leave the two of you alone while you lay around the house in varying states of torment and shock. You don't have body wracking sobs; instead you lie there and sniffle quietly to yourself. If anyone were to interpret your actions, they'd probably say you didn't care or were relieved.

 

You guess you were, in a way. Mostly, you were relieved you didn't die too. You were relieved your brother wasn't dead, because then _who_ would you have? You were relieved that you had somewhere to stay because your house and pretty much everything you owned was gone.

 

Then, you get the autopsy report.

 

The police wanted to investigate and ordered an autopsy in the unlikely case that you and Kankri opted to not have one. It comes back conclusively that he was killed, probably instantaneously, by the blast. Further investigations find that the blast was caused by a slow-building gas leak that was ignited by something going off, like an alarm clock or an automated heating system.

 

You're asked if there was anything in the house that could have set off a spark. You name your clock, which goes off at 7:00 AM every day. The neighbors all concur that this is indeed the time that the blast occurred.

 

It's funny, the way your life works. First, your mother dies of illness acquired from having kids. Then, your father is killed by his asshole son who was too stupid to shut his alarm clock off _after_ his son screamed at him and stormed out.

 

You have no other family than Kankri, so it's up to you two to plan the wake and funeral. It's expensive, but your father's life insurance covers most of the costs. Your gas company even gives you and Kankri a large sum of condolence money that stinks distinctly of a plea to not sue them.

 

None the less, the fact that you rightly are responsible for your father's death doesn't get in the way of Kankri. It's completely terrible; he's not mad it's your fault; he's so very relieved that it wasn't you too. He doesn't think he could handle losing what was left of his dwindling family.

 

It's after your father is buried and you're moved in with Kankri on the other side of the county that you begin to wish you'd stayed home that night with your father.

 

–

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 14 years old. You attend the public school by your brother's college and live in an apartment that he shares with 4 of his roommates. Your life isn't bad by most standards of the word; in fact, you'd say it was perfectly adequate.

 

You have friends at your school and even though your brother is as annoying as can be, your relationship with him is fine. You're still best friends with Gamzee and Sollux, even though you don't see them as much as you'd like to. Gamzee revealed an extremely unsettling mental disorder not long after you moved, and is now on heavy, mood-altering medicine for it. The voices in his head had tried to break out, but he kept them in check now. He seemed to be better than ever; better than he was when he was too stoned to think most of the time. He's doing well.

 

When you think about it, really, the only thing you have a problem with in your life is yourself.

 

You haven't really been the same since your father passed away, as you have been told by your brother, Sollux, Gamzee-- pretty much everyone you know. You like to think you've gained a new appreciation for just how unbelievably _shitty_ everything can get. You're not a pessimist, you're a realist with a healthy twist of self-hatred.

 

Yet, you've still managed to make friends.

 

Namely, a tall, lovely girl named Kanaya. She's older than you by a few months, but infinitely more mature. She puts up with your belly-aching and raging against anything with the _nerve_ to carryout basic life functions and still manages to not be holier-than-thou. Her biting sarcasm only scratches your skin and leaves superficial cuts. It's hard for you to stay mad at her for your usual duration, and she cares for you so deeply, at times it feels like you're overcome by the feeling of being wanted by someone.

 

You suppose you care just as deeply right back. You met her a few months ago on your first day of high school when she had been in your “acquaintance group” of people who the teachers had stuck together so the students would mingle with each other.

 

Today is Friday, and on Fridays, she takes the bus with you to go back to your old town. Kankri used to make the pilgrimages with you, but was he ever-grateful that Kanaya had taken that stress off him and his job and his school and the burden of having a brother that he had to support.

 

You're staring at your shoes and contemplating this as the bus rattles along.

 

“Karkat, you're quieter than usual,” Kanaya states slowly, trying to enunciate clearly enough so her thin accent isn't heard.

 

You can still pick out the lilts in her speech. You continue to examine your shoelaces as you answer her-- “I'm just thinking.”

 

“Oh, then I should leave you alone. This is truly a rare occurrence for you.”

 

You turn to face her and she's smirking at you with dark lips and bright eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Kan, I'm not in the mood for this shit right now.”

 

Her expression softens a little at the defeated tone of your voice. When she replies, it's still clear and peppered with her dancing words. “Is it something you want to talk about?”

 

The bus runs over a bump and jars the two of you out of your seats a little. “Well, I don't _want_ to talk about it, but I guess I'm going to have to.”

 

“Well generally, or in your case at least, _not_ talking about it has lead to some truly magnificent mental breakdowns.”

 

You sigh and brush off the soft acidity of her words. “Sollux has been acting a lot different lately.”

 

“Well I haven't exactly known him for very long,” Kanaya states frankly. “Was he much different than he is now?”

 

You shrug, short and fast. “Not really, I guess. Well, like, he's been so moody and everything. One minute he's snapping at me about how he doesn't want to do anything and the next he's telling me about the things he's gotten done.”

 

You squint at the tongues of your shoes. “Gamzee also doesn't reek of pot anymore, which is actually very unsettling.”

 

Kanaya gives a small cough. “What's unsettling is that he reeked of pot to begin with.”

 

You shake your head. “Nah, he's also been acting a lot different. He doesn't smile as much as he used to. He grins plenty, but he doesn't _smile_ , you know?”

 

“I really wouldn't, seeing as you're the only person I see daily and you have smiled about 2 times in front of me,” she replies, sarcasm dripping from her words and splashing onto your shoes.

 

You brush her tone off and frown at your hands. “Just because I'm not a grinning moron doesn't mean I'm unhappy.”

 

“Karkat, you seem to always be in a constant state of discontent, though.”

 

“You're always so supportive of me, Kanaya.”

 

“I'm like a replacement spine.”

 

“Funny.”

 

“ _I_ thought so.”

 

Soon enough you arrive at the bus station by Sollux's house. You and Kanaya walk the rest of the way there, your thick sweater making you sweat uncomfortably. You're breathing heavily and hate yourself just a little bit more that you're incapable of walking such a small distance without breaking a sweat and popping a lung.

 

You knock on the door to his house and he doesn't answer. You knock again with a loud comment that he's probably just shitting around with his video games again.

 

He still doesn't answer.

 

You comment that this is very odd. Kanaya echoes your attestation to the strangeness of the scenario and then asks you what you want to do. You suggest just leaving and going to see Gamzee. She grimaces, but relents to go with you if you'd like. As the two of you are stepping away from the porch, you hear something break inside the house.

 

You look over at his driveway and see that his parents are out of the house. He has no pets. His brother is in class right now and would definitely not be home. You and Kanaya come to the conclusion that the house is either being robbed, or Sollux fell.

 

You sigh and move back to bang on the door again. You hear another crash from inside the house followed by a shrill yell that cracks a little at the end. You're panicking a little; what if something bad happened? What if you had gotten here sooner, you probably could have stopped someone from breaking in and fucking killing Sollux.

 

Kanaya, however, takes a much more reasonable approach than your frantic pounding of the door. She jumps into the hedges on the side of the house and manages to force a window open, effectively breaking into the house. She climbs in halfway before beckoning you over and pulling you inside with her.

 

The inside of the house is dark with the kitchen light throwing a putrid-looking yellow pall on some of the shiner surfaces of the hallway. The television is off but movie cases are strewn around and seem to have been organized and rearranged according to some sort of indescribable pattern. Kanaya comments that it would appear that you two have stumbled into a horror movie.

 

You comment that she needs to stop. She mimes a zipping motion of her lips and points up the stairs. You guess going up wouldn't be a bad idea, as there appears to be nothing but meticulously organized objects down here.

 

The two of you ascend.

 

You check around upstairs until you get to Sollux's room. The door is shut and you don't hear anything from inside. You hesitate a little before knocking on it.

 

You hear something scrape a little inside and you knock harder, calling Sollux's name. The door opens immediately, and you accidentally beat Sollux's chest.

 

He says he's relieved you're here, what took you so long? How did you get inside, don't you ever knock anymore?

 

You look up at Kanaya and she shrugs a little, looking back at Sollux. You ask Sollux if he's feeling alright. He says he feels fine, why don't you get off his fuckin' back about it?

 

He walks into his bedroom and it's a positive mess.

 

The walls are scribbled on with a marker over and over again, nonsensical words scrawled across papers and maps and posters. A lamp and a key dish are broken on his floor, and his clothing appears to have been folded and organized according to size and color. It hits you that it has been months since you'd seen the inside of Sollux's room.

 

You ask him again if he's alright.

 

“Jesus _Christ_ , KK, I already said _yes._ ” His lisp chews the words and his shitty-ass prescription fake 3-D glasses flash a little in the harsh light.

 

“What have you been doing here all day, Sollux?” Kanaya asks, and you can see her eyes sliding over the scene before you two.

 

He comments about a radio and moves about his room, seeming a little out of it. You're more than a little unsettled by his downright _fucking strange_ behavior, and once you see the chance to get him out of the house, you take it.

 

You walk with him and Kanaya over to Gamzee.

 

At Gamzee's house, you wait until Kanaya takes Sollux away for a moment before you fill him in on what you saw.

 

“Shit brother,” Gamzee states, seeming preoccupied with repeatedly screwing and unscrewing the cap of a soda bottle. “I knew about that fuckin’ business months ago.”

 

You're taken aback and hurt. It soon turns into anger. “What the fuck do you mean you already knew? And you didn't do anything about it!?”

 

He shrugs. “It's not my business, man.”

 

“Gamzee, there's seriously something wrong with him.”

 

He looks at you over the top of his bottle, making smart eye contact as a wicked grin breaks across his greased-up face. “Nothing more or less than is wrong with the rest of us, bro. He just shows it more and doesn't seem to remember to hide it.”

 

Kanaya comes back in with Sollux, who seems to have recovered mostly from his previous episode of searching for a radio that was never there. You're left staring at Gamzee with the hollow feeling of fear and just plain _freaked out_ that you get when he says something like that. Strangely prophetic, his nonsense sounds perfectly sound and insane at the same time.

 

However, he's wrong about this one.

 

Three weeks later, you get a call from Sollux's family stating that he had been diagnosed with a type of schizophrenia. You'd alerted his parents to his odd behavior and ramblings, and they'd taken him to the doctor's almost immediately. He'd be on medication and a little off for a while, but he should be back to the way he used to be in a few months.

 

You make small talk with them for a bit before putting down the phone and wondering if he _had_ a used to to go back to; what if he'd always been like this and no one ever saw? What if Gamzee had been right in some way, and this was Sollux's state of normal? What would taking away the compulsions and voices he'd found comfort in do to him after so long?

 

Two years later, you find out what they did for Gamzee.

 

–

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 16 years old. You currently find it difficult to open your eyes, and your whole body feels extremely heavy, like moving was something you'd done in a previous life. Your skin feels numb and your bones ache and you guess your muscles have turned into gelatin because you try to lift your arm but nothing happens.

 

You manage to ungum your eyes and get your retinas fried by a hard white light bouncing off of hard white walls. You roll your eyeballs around a little to clear them of sleep, and make out blurry shapes and colors. You try to say something, but your mouth has trouble opening and your words have no voice behind them. You try again to say something, and instead end up making a sort of gurgling noise more reminiscent of something from a horror than a noise produced by vocal chords.

 

Something to left of you stirs and you try to turn to face it. All you get is a grasping pain in your abdomen and a cool hand on your arm.

 

“Don't move, Karkat,” you hear Kanaya say. She sounds a little hollow, but calm as ever.

 

You groan again, trying to convey some sort of grievance to her.

 

She scoffs at you and says you can't be in that much pain; you probably can't even feel your face right now.

 

You attempt to lift the arm not stuffed with needles and fluids to touch your face, but your arm feels like a wet noodle, and swiftly flops back onto the sterile mattress.

 

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Kanaya states drily, but her voice is poked with notes of relief. You try to sit up and she helps you, pulling a pillow from outside your fuzzy view and using it to prop you up.

 

You blink a few times and look around the room. A clock, a whiteboard with chores written on it, the end of your bed, a television bolted to the wall and Sollux curled up on a chair, snoring in the corner of the room come into your view. You're in a hospital and you hazily remember why you're here. You groan, successfully bringing a hand to your face to cradle it in self-pity and self-loathing.

 

“I don't have  _health_  insurance,” you moan, the debt this stay can put you in gripping at your brain and yanking on your heart.

 

Kanaya pulls her chair next to you and grabs your hand from your face, softly squeezing you and hushing you. Her cool presence puts you a bit at ease, but your stomach begins to clench uncomfortably, and not from your perforated spleen.

 

“Shhh Karkat, Gamzee's father will probably be more than willing to pay for this if it means no charges will be filed.”

 

You're put at ease a little. You ask where Gamzee is.

 

She grimaces and looks at where your large hand is clasped in her small palms. “I believe he is in a different wing of the hospital, probably the psych ward.”

 

“I should go and see him.”

 

“No,” Kanaya presses, her hands gripping yours emphatically. “You should  _not._ _”_

 

“Kan, he needs me--”

 

“Karkat, he tried to  _kill_  you.”

 

“Yeah, but isn't he the one that called the hospital?”

 

She relents that yes, he did try to undo what he had done. You're both quiet for a moment before she asks you what exactly happened.

 

You take a deep breath and get a shooting pain in your gut. You wince a little and she asks if she should call the nurse. You say no, you're fine. You'll call them in a little bit.

 

You shrug a little at her and sigh a little. “Well, I've been trying to go over there to check up on him ever since he tried to overdose last year.”

 

Kanaya nods, remembering the gruesome experience and the stomach pumping and the angry accusations that you just didn't understand what he was going through that she stayed with you through.

 

“Well, and this is completely my fault I should have fucking  _checked_  to make sure he was actually taking his medicine, but he hadn't and I  _knew_ he was doing drugs again but I didn't want him to get arrested. So I just kept trying to take his shit and throw it away; I mean it wasn't like kiddie pot anymore, he was on the hard stuff. He was gonna get hepatitis or something from that shit. I don't even know why I bothered or something, it's not like he couldn't afford to just go and buy more.

 

“And he caught me rooting around for his stash and he came at me, and I just didn't  _fight back_ , you know? He punched me a few times, and I just shoved him off and screamed at him, but it didn't get through to him and he hit me real hard, like right in the jaw.” You reach up to feel the bruised area, but Kanaya keeps your hands down to stop you from fretting over how badly you were beaten. The swelling has to have gone down, though, how long were you out for?

 

You ask Kanaya, but she doesn't answer you. Instead, she says quietly, “When did he get out his pocket knife and stab you?”

 

You blink a few times, trying to remember. It's hazy, the memory too recent and near to your current state of heavy medication to recall with too much clarity. However, you manage to answer her.

 

“I don't think he actually went for it. I think it was already lying open on his coffee table, and when we were struggling, we knocked it off. I think he just saw it and went for it.”

 

Kanaya makes a face at you, thinking you're trying to protect any modicum of respect anyone may have for your poor, brain-rotted friend.

 

Kanaya mentions, again, how he's caused you more grief than he's worth.

 

You don't answer her; you don't  _want_  to answer her. It hurts a little more than it should to admit that he's a poisonous person who's just fucked you over numerous times. He's also probably the only reason you'd survived up until this point, saving you from, essentially, yourself.

 

The juries still out as to whether or not that's something you're grateful for.

 

“He was strung out of his mind,” you mumble, as if his violent state can be justified by his chemical assistance.

 

She frowns at you, disapproving and hateful. You stare at your hands, shamed because of Gamzee by your friend's expression.

 

You ask her what's up with Sollux.

 

She looks at you for a moment, as if forgetting that Sollux was currently occupying a small space in the room. She then looks over and seems to remember him and says that he's been waiting for you to wake up, but he got too tired.

 

You look over at the clock and see it's 11 o'clock. AM or PM, you do not know. You ask. Kanaya says PM. You ask if this fucking place even has visitors hours.

 

She shrugs, saying that they probably do but no one has had the heart to remove her, Sollux and your brother from the premises. You don't even have a roommate to bother.

 

“Wait, where's Kankri?” you ask, getting a little frantic as you twist around to search for your brother. She stops you from ripping your stitches, calms you a little, her cool hands on your over-heated face.

 

“He went to get something to eat, I believe. He hasn't slept since he got the call for what happened. He signed all the papers for your surgery and sat here all yesterday and today.”

 

“Wait, how long was I out for?” It couldn't have been that long.

 

“Well,” Kanaya begins, appearing to try to force herself to think back to a semblance of a passage of time. It registers that she looks extremely tired to you; heavy bags pulling at the dark skin of her face. “I got called by Sollux two days ago, and you had just gotten into the emergency room then. Kanrki managed to get us here in an hour and a half, then you were in surgery for a few hours; they had to remove your appendix because the knife cut it and they didn't want to risk infection. And then you've been asleep since then. So you've been here for two days.”

 

“Yeah,” you state, clearing your throat a little. “I think I remember the ambulance and a little before getting sedated.”

 

Kanaya sighs heavily and she's about to say something when you hear a groan come from the crumpled ball of limbs that is Sollux.

 

You tell him to wake the fuck up, you're not dead yet.

 

He rolls around a little and contorts his way to a standing position out of the chair. He stretches, his hands about a foot short of the ceiling. He makes a grabbing motion with them and then settles back down, pulling a chair next to Kanaya and asking you how you're doing.

 

You snort at his languid display. “Nice to know my brush with near death doesn't have you rustled in the slightest.”

 

He grins, and even though it's small, you know it's real. “You're just so sweet when you're asleep, I didn't want to celebrate you waking up and ending the quiet.”

 

“Fuck you, I could have died.”

 

“But you  _didn't_ _._ ”

 

“Sollux,” Kanaya interjects. Even though she sounds grave as death, her lips are curled in a grin. “I think Karkat's aching for some pity right now.”

 

“Let's not belittle his brush with death, though,” Sollux states, feigning concern. “He  _could_ pop a stitch or bust a gut.” He chuckles slightly to himself, finding some sort of sick humor in the little joke he managed to spin off at your expense.

 

Kanaya gives a chuckle to him and you lament your poor choice in “friends;” could they even be called such after disregarding your currently soft state.

 

Time passes as such, with Sollux and Kanaya simply being glad you're alright. Kankri comes back, and looks so relieved that you'd avoided death for a second time in your life, he even tells you so. Kanaya has to leave the room for a bit to call her mother to tell her you're alright and that she's alright and that she'll probably come home when you get out in a few days. When she returns, she says her mother is coming over to visit, and you're happy. Sollux isn't having any problems with his medication for once and is so _himself_ _,_ it's wonderful to see.

 

For the first time in a while, you feel actually happy.

 

Or you would, if not for Gamzee tugging on your mind. Kankri refuses to allow you to see him, and when Gamzee and Sollux's brothers come by to pay you a visit, they painfully neglect the subject of the reason you're in here. They leave after a bit to go and see Gamzee, then you don't see them after that.

 

Kanaya's family arrives the day you are scheduled to get out, and they take all of you home. You, Kanaya and Kankri are crammed into the back of their car, Kanaya's sister and mother up in the front. Her mother has one of the most wonderful accents you've ever heard; all of her words sound like music. When her and her daughters call you darling, it hurts in the best way, to feel wanted in a family that you weren't always a part of.

 

–

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 18 years old.

 

You have made the long-thought for decision to turn your friend in to the authorities.

 

The Chemical Romance and Subsequent Neglect of the Anti-Psychotic Medication of Gamzee Makara, is simple not something you're interested in seeing continue. Quite frankly, you're extremely excited to see how it will end, hopefully not in the death of your loyal, terrible friend. Since he'd almost killed you, he'd become possessive, obsessed even. You guess you could say you're just as possessed by him as he wants you to be, and you're just about incapable of mustering the ability to not care about him.

 

Sometimes, it seems like you're the only person able to do even that.

 

His father is rarely seen these days, and you think he's on the run from something as the police have come to question pretty much everyone who has ever come into contact with the man. You, Sollux, your brother, even Kanaya, have all been asked about what you knew about the oldest Makara. It's strange; he's been gone for a while now, but money continues to enter Gamzee's account. Perhaps he's fled or perhaps something has befallen him.

 

Really, all you see in the man is a terrible father.

 

Yours wasn't all shine and had a fair amount of spit, but he fucking  _stayed_ _._ You've tried to call Gamzee's to tell him what was wrong with his son and never an answer. You've left numbers to call back, you've tried to track him down, but you're probably not as swift as the FBI is at manhunting.

 

Even Gamzee's brother can't do anything to help his brother; hell if even he could. Even if  _you_  could find him. He'd finished college, cleaned out his room in his house, and then left. You haven't heard a word from his since. Sollux's brother has suffered greatly in his absence, and you'd equate their relationship to perhaps, the one you and Kanaya have, if not even more co-dependent.

 

It makes you even sicker with yourself than usual to think that you'd be the kid with the broken brain in that situation.  _You're_ the one with the unpredictable temper,  _you're_ the one with the foul mouth, and _you’re_  the complete fucking asshole who's rude to all his friends, even the one he  _needs_  to survive.

 

Today is the day that you didn't tell that friend who you find yourself unable to exist without that you were going to see the man who almost liberated them from you.

 

You go to Gamzee's house, and he's not home. This has become the usual, as he likes to perhaps walk around or go hit trees in the forest by his house when he's high. You walk into his room and pull out the metal lockbox he keeps under his bed. You don't have the key to it, but you'd like to think you'd grown into your stout frame a bit and break the lock off on the counter of his kitchen island after about 2 tries.

 

Inside, there is an assortment of, well,  _a lot_ of things. You frown, your face scrunched up in disgust and unhappiness. You see various needles that you steer clear of, little packets of power and others filled with something that looks like tiny rocks. Other parts house tablets in baggies, capsules, little vials of clear and colored liquids.

 

Something crosses your mind that says Gamzee's supply is probably worth more than your organs. Then again, your organs probably aren't worth much as they're _yours_ _._

 

You suddenly don't know how to go about this.

 

You slam the locker shut and go to his home phone, call the local police station. You'd memorized the number after constantly getting lost while walking through your town and the surrounding area. You tell them basically  _everything_  about Gamzee and his habit. His neglect of his medicine and affinity for other chemical assistance.

 

Soon enough, Gamzee arrives home and is arrested promptly. The curses and slurs he shouts at you sting like getting shocked when flipping on the lightswitch after walking on a carpet in socks. Each word is small and hardly hurts, but each one adds up until it's like your whole body has shock zones on it where outside currents have passed through.

 

Your skin crawls and your ears hurt. Your teeth are itchy, the completely unresolvable feeling of it driving you further into a pit of anger and discomfort with yourself. Gamzee threatens to kill you, he'll get you,  _you motherfucking sack of shit, how could you do this?_

 

Shortly after his arrest, he is given a choice: jail for possession, which would have resulted in perhaps  _decades_  for the amount he possessed, or rehab and then into a mental facility for the help he so needed.

 

He and his lawyer came to the conclusion that rehab and an institutionalization would be the best option for his scenario.

 

Kanaya commends you on your ability to realize your friend had a problem and do something about it. She says you did the right thing. Sollux is angry, but you don't know why. He had never been particularly close to Gamzee, and about a month after Gamzee was in rehab, you'd confronted him about it.

 

“C'mon, Sollux, what's your fuckin' problem?” you ask. You're both sitting in his basement trying to decide whether or not alcohol would mess with Sollux's anti-psychitocs.

 

He sighs and puts the bottle of vodka down, his hands going up to rub under his glasses. When he answers, he sounds tired. “You're my fucking problem, ever think about that?”

 

You frown at him across the dark room, the highlights on both of your faces illuminated by the glow of one of Sollux's main gaming systems. “Is that supposed to tell me something, asswipe?”

 

He's angry, harshly and suddenly.

 

“Why'd you have to go and fucking  _do_ that though, man? I mean, don't you ever fucking think of anyone but yourself? Jesus  _shit_ , he was my last friend I had within a reasonable distance, ever think of that? You're two hours away and off gallivanting with Kanaya most of the time, and I'm left here with no one to talk to besides my clinically depressed brother and that  _fucking psycho._ And when you  _are_ here, which, might I add, has become something that happens increasingly  _less_ often, you're there visiting him!” He's standing by the end of his tirade, his hands fisting in his hair in dementia and protest. His voice cracks into a shrill whine during some parts as he screeches his grievances at you.

 

“ _And,”_ he continues as you're left staring at him in shock from your beaten-up chair. “He's the shittest friend I've ever had. Then again, that doesn't really qualify very much, as  _you're_  my only other friend!”

 

You stand, grabbing onto his angry words, familiar with the strains rage puts you through. You live off of it, it's something that keeps you going, despite perhaps not being angry yourself. Your temper burns hotly, white-to-the-touch and scorching in your misguided rage.

 

“Well what the  _fuck_  was I supposed to do!? He was gonna die!” you shout at him, raising your fists for no particular reason. Or maybe you wanted to hit him, hurt him and make him feel like the little shit he was acting like.

 

“I don't know, how about not getting him arrested!?” he screeches back to you. The shrillness of his voice makes the two of you stop to calm down. You're accosted by the fact that you've grabbed his shirt and yanked him down to your height.

 

He looks at you over his glasses and asks you what you're going to do.

 

You take a deep breath, and suddenly, you're not angry anymore. You're disappointed and disgusted with yourself. The hands you had locked into his thin shirt unclench themselves and hang in front of you. He straightens up and you swallow uncomfortably, your tongue heavy and thick.

 

“I don't want him to die,” you mutter, cowed as if you're a child getting scolded by your mother.

 

He scoffs, stepping away from you. “You seem to be the only one.”

 

You both silently acknowledge that that was a terrible thing to say. You then grab your things, the bottle you'd brought included, and get the fuck out of his house. As you stomp down his street, you scan for a telephone pole with which to call Kanaya. You find one and call her, miraculously managing to find dimes and quarters in your pocket. You tell her you're coming back early from your visit and to tell Kankri when he gets off of work.

 

She asks you what happened.

 

You say you got into a fight with Sollux.

 

She then asks you what happened and you sigh and state that you simply just do not want to talk about it.

 

She asks if you want her to come and see you, and you ask what the point would be?

 

She says she can fix it; you tell her where to meet you.

 

You tell her not to worry about it; you'll take the train there and be back soon.

 

As the hour train ride slides on, you think on yourself and truly realize for the first time just how much you've come to hate yourself. You'd managed to finish high school and it seemed like that was it for you. You didn't want to die, but you didn't want to keep living. It seemed so pointless, and everyday you'd come home you'd either sleep too much or too little, just how completely  _done_  with the world you are taking out impossible strains on you.

 

You're not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders; far from it. You're carrying something you're positive you've imagined and it makes you sick that you just can't  _get better_. Why did all of this happen to you? You've asked yourself that numerous times and you're almost certain you know the answer but actually saying it out loud, giving it shape, would make it all too real in a way that might destroy you  _wrong._

 

You've fucked up.

 

You immolated your father, your mother died from getting sick after having you, and your brother has to work twice as hard to pay for school and himself  _and_ _you_. Not to mention you're an asshole to the one friend you've always had and maybe he's not your friend anymore? No, you don't want that and thinking it makes you retch dryly, your empty stomach trying to turn itself inside out. Your next friend in line tried to murder you, and yet you stay because he's your  _friend_ , and you can't just leave him no matter how much your gut remembers the shock of getting torn open. You can't just leave him like this, it hurts too much now and you won't be able to later if it ever stops because you need to  _remind_  yourself that this is your fault and why didn't you see it coming? You're supposed to keep your friends safe, that's your  _goddamn job,_  so why would any of this happen?

 

And Kanaya. Your train arrives at the depot and you shuffle home, a clock reading 8 PM. You enter your apartment and find Kankri not there and you don't know if it was his day to work or if he's out with his friends. You drag yourself into your room and curl onto your side, not crying because crying is for fucking pussies and you don't want to add that to your list of reasons why you're scum.

 

Instead you pull out your bottle of liquor and open it, taking a swig. It smells like mouthwash and window cleaner, tastes like it too. It burns your throat as it goes down and you cough to make sure your esophagus hasn't melted and slid into your stomach. The vodka sits hollowly inside you, and you haven't eaten anything all day. Your stomach clenches hungrily at it,  _finally_  you gave it something to digest aside from its own lining.

 

You give a weak heave that turns into a shudder as you think about her. She makes you sick to your innards to think of how you've treated her. She's the only person who's cared about you  _truly_  not because of family or because you were fumbling children who'd needed friends. She speaks two languages and is taking another one in school. She has the hints of an accent that mark that she has a life outside you; she has a mother and a sister and would probably have found someone else who makes her feel good about herself instead of dragging her down with their bullshit.

 

And you're a piece of shit who used to be able to speak two languages, but your father had dropped it a little after your mother had died, and you'd dropped it after  _he'd_  died. It's like losing a part of yourself that you've always had and didn't care enough to maintain. Like being a kid and not brushing your teeth, it'd rotted until there was a hole in it that you'd sucked air through, ate sweet things to make sure it still hurt and then it fell out and you'd had the space to make you remember that it was there, that it had hurt because of your own stupidity.

 

Then a new tooth had come in but it was bigger than the other, too big for your mouth. It wasn't the same and didn't hurt when you ate sweet things so you'd stopped all together.

 

–

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are 20 years old.

 

You've done an impressive job of fucking up your life in the past, but this one takes the cake.

 

You're the biggest asshole you know;  _no,_  you're probably the biggest asshole to have ever existed.

 

In fact, you are certain of that assertion and are willing to provide proof to that end.

 

You're going to use a quote from Kanaya, one she had used to adequately summarize your life up until this point.

 

“Karkat,” she'd stated as she stood in your college dorm room. “Your major is still undeclared because you are  _intent_  on fucking your life into a bottle as far as it can go and then chucking it over the side of a dam and into an ocean.”

 

You'd looked at her from your desk, a half-finished bottle of some sort of clear liquid standing at attention next to you. You resented that statement and gave her one of your own.

 

“I'm not intent on fucking  _anything_ \--”

 

“Well who was the girl I chased out of here today?”

 

You probably should have grinned at her, make a face like the one's you'd seen those douche bags in college movies make, but instead you'd deepened your frown, your eyebrows hanging heavily over your eyelids. “She's in my psych class.”

 

Kanaya had sighed and pinched her nose. Her shoulders were hunched over and then suddenly relaxed. She came and knelt down next to you,  _her_ looking up at  _you_  for a change.

 

“Karkat, Sollux and I are worried about you. You're not a  _drunk_  per se, but you're not even legal yet! I don't really care if you drink, but you're doing it  _too much._  You're not an alcoholic, but you're on your way.” She'd sounded worried and you know she'd just sugar coating it for you. You're in this a fair bit deeper and you  _know_  it.

 

You'd sighed and looked away from her sharp eyes. “Has Gamzee said anything?”

 

She'd gotten angry. “I don't give a  _fuck_  if he's had anything to say.”

 

“Well  _I_ do.”

 

“What do your other friends think?”

 

She'd meant the kids you'd met here.  _College_ _._ Damn, when had it become your sophomore year?

 

You're currently sitting around with the friends she'd meant. She'd confronted you a week ago and you'd made the stout resolution to maybe not disappoint her as much as you had been. Then again, with your current friends, it was hard not to.

 

Eridan Ampora and Feferi Peixes: two of the most disgusting kids you've ever met.

 

Eridan is a grade-a asshole who liked politics, history, trading cards, and Feferi.

 

Feferi is the nicest person you think you've ever met with a penchant for the occult, animals, the family business, and swimming.

 

The disgusting thing about them is that you actually  _like_ them. Sometimes you stop and think about your friends and cringe that they are the people you've chosen to surround yourself with. You'd met them when they'd been in your intro to essay-writing class and they had seemed to have their life set up already.

 

Eridan was intent on getting the girl and the family business, something which sounded like a business that was shady and underground. Feferi was intent on getting  _her_  family's business and turning it the fuck around. She hadn't even tried to hide it, she was something of a mafia princess. Her mother had sent her to boarding school ever since she was young to keep her away from the life and her older sister had attempted to run away so many times when she was younger that her mother had straight-up bought a house for her in a different state and allowed her to live there. Feferi told you that sometimes she visited her there; there were kids her age on the block!

 

You'd tried to wrap your head around a family as dysfunctional as hers and came up with only a headache that hurt like a night with only gray geese for friends.

 

“My sister wants nothing to do with my mom, though,” Feferi had said. “Meenah's mean, but she's not cruel. I think she wants to start something else; but  _I_  want to fix it. That's why I'm going to school here. I could have gone anywhere I wanted but I wanted a state college so I could see, well, for lack of a better phrasing, how everyone else lives. I've been surrounded by dirty money my whole life, I wanted to try something else.”

 

Eridan had followed her. It was painfully obvious that he was aching for the girl, and that he'd do pretty much anything to stay with her. He got jealous when she dated other men, and he allowed her to cow him into submission. She was sweet as sugar and Eridan was as mean as sin.

 

And yet you stayed with them and you'd even venture to say you loved them.

 

You're all sitting around cross-legged in your room. Eridan's scarf is off and he's twisting it in his hands, nervous and not really paying attention as you rattle off the plans for tonight.

 

“Alright, so I invited Kanaya and Sollux. They should be at the park at around 10:30 tonight. Is there anything you want them to bring?”

 

Feferi looks thoughtful for a moment before poking Eridan's leg and jumping him from his state of reverie. “You're going to bring something to protect ourselves with, right? Like a bat or something, just in case there are vagrants there or something?”

 

Eridan blinks a few times and then adjusts his glasses. “Yeah, Fef, I have a few things we can protect ourselves with.”

 

She smiles, bright and big. She flips blonde hair over one shoulder and stands, announcing that this is going to be one of the steps crucial to her development as a balanced member of society. She thanks you and Eridan for coming with her as she goes on her first stint of breaking the law in earnest. She's so looking forward to  _trespassing_ _._

 

You tell her to sit down, you're running this show. She grins and sits on the edge of your bed.

 

“I still don't get why you hafta do this, Fef,” Eridan asks, his thick brogue pulling the distress from his words and releasing it into the air.

 

“Because,  _Eh_ -ridan, I've really missed out on a lot of experiences in my life and getting chased off of private property is sadly one of them. It means a lot to me.”

 

And that's really all it took for Eridan to give her a goofy grin and say it was no trouble.

 

Feferi stands and leaves, stating that she needs to go and make a few other arrangements for tonight and get ready, she doesn't want to mess this up! She leaves and you watch Eridan as his head turns to see her as she goes.

 

You give a cruel little scoff at his disgusting show of affection.

 

He turns to you, sneering. “Yah got somethin' stuck in yah throat?”

 

“I was just choking on all of your genuine affection, is all.”

 

“Fuck you, Kar, and yah fuckin' friends.”

 

“You fall under that category, buck-o.”

 

Your fight melts away as it always does and he resumes nervously winding his scarf. He looks down at his twisting hands and then back at you.

 

“This is a stupid idea, isn't it?”

 

You adjust your legs, feeling the pins and needles prick at them. “What, you lusting after Feferi or her plan to trespass. Because I think both are equally stupid for entirely different reasons.”

 

“I am not  _lusting_  after her. I love her.” He says it so casually, and you know he's probably meant it for a long time.

 

You feel bad for this asshole. You feel pretty goddamned bad for him and his unrequited love for a girl who has really only  _ever_  wanted a friend in him.

 

“And she knows you do.”

 

“Aye.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what?”

 

“And what are you going to do?”

 

He glares at you. “Dammit Kar, it isn't  _that_ _easy_. I'm still in the process of reelin' her in.” He sighs. “I've talked to you about this before, yah fuckin' asshole.”

 

You make a face at him. “Is that why you agreed to this plan of hers. Get her good and scared and you're there to comfort her in her hour of fear?”

 

“That's sick, Kar. I'm doin' it because she wants to and she asked me to help her.”

 

His words are so clean and sincere it makes the bottom of your feet itch. He's talked to you about Feferi before and you know that while most of the things he does in life are unsavory, some of them downright evil, when it comes to her, he's always tried to be as simple with her as possible. He doesn't think anything bad about her, aside from perhaps her rejection of her family.

 

You shrug at him and when he suggests studying or playing something in the lounge, you scoff at his offered proposal. The two of you get up and spend the time screaming at each other over video games until Eridan leaves to take a shower at around 6, leaving you to your own devices.

 

You trudge back to your room and look at it.

 

You remember  _why_  you're such a goddamn asshole as you look at the bottles everywhere. They're not strewn around the room; rather there are just a lot of them. There are mostly empty ones that you just haven't finished and don't want to consolidate. Most of it is clear and others are filled with an amber liquid that you remember makes your heart hurt.

 

You approach one of them and pick it up, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to your lips. You're about to take a swig before you remember Kanaya asking you to stop. Not telling you; she knew that it would get you nowhere. She had  _asked_ , making it something you would do out of your own free will.

 

You take a single swig before capping it and putting it down. If you're stopping, you're doing it on your own terms. You pick up all the empty bottles and throw them into your small trashcan, the tiny receptacle shaking under the force with which you hurl the bottles inside. You consolidate bottles until you think you have about three mostly filled ones left and a little more than twenty empty bottles.

 

You stare at them falling out of your trashcan and piled on the floor and you realize that you might have a problem. You leave and get a garbage bag from the bathroom, come back, and  _clean_  your goddamned room. The bottles go at the bottom and then on top are cans and papers and old notebooks and shit you really just don't need anymore. A bottle breaks and you cut your hand on it, a disgusting feeling welling up in your stomach at the sight of the bright red slash against your skin.

 

You rub at it with napkins until it stops bleeding and it doesn't really look so bad when it's not gushing blood.

 

You continue your purge until it's about 9:30 and Eridan walks in with Feferi. They look at you standing in the middle of your room, everything knocked over and over-turned. Feferi is silent and Eridan asks if you're alright.

 

You say no, but it's fine.

 

He asks if you want to talk about it, and you say you guess you will when you get back from this godforsaken endeavor.

 

Feferi is bubbly as she pulls your fingers from their vice-like grip on the black plastic garbage bag and her hands are gentle as she tugs you out of your room, Eridan in tow. Into her car and you drive out to the park where the three of you sit there waiting for Kanaya and Sollux to show up.

 

“So,” Feferi begins, her hands falling from the steering wheel and turning the car off. “Eridan, could you hand me the bats?”

 

You can almost hear Eridan roll his eyes, but he pulls out three aluminum bats from underneath his chair. He hands them to her and you hear her say “excellent.” She passes one back to you and you grip the cold metal tightly, the smell acrid and it reminds you of pocket knives and stuffy, too-large houses.

 

“So, what do yah actually want to do?” Eridan asks, his voice low and accent thicker.

 

Feferi swallows and rolls her hands around her bat. “I wanted to take a few pictures. Maybe get something to take home. We shouldn't be out any later than 1 or 2 AM.”

 

You groan. “Good to know you won't be impunging on my sleep.”

 

Feferi's tone is sweet but her words are mean. “Don't be retarded, you hardly sleep anyway.”

 

“That hurts.”

 

“Hey I think I see Sollux!” Feferi exclaims instead of retorting. She hurriedly gets out of the car and runs over to the one now parked near yours. You stay inside with Eridan as you two watch Sollux and Kanaya step out of the car. Feferi tangles her arms with Sollux's and you watch Eridan's face for the little twitch you know will be there.

 

He swallows hard and the light from Kanaya's car bounces off his glasses.

 

You put a hand on his shoulder and he lets you keep it there.

 

You don't know what to tell him, but you manage to just say, “It could be worse?”

 

Eridan makes a grunting noise to affirm either that he heard you, or that it could indeed be worse, you're not sure which.

 

He shrugs your hand off after a moment and mutters that you should probably get your fuckin' ass in gear. You shirk his rudeness and vacate the vehicle.

 

Kanaya smiles as soon as she sees you, her bright teeth even more brilliant against her dark skin. She pulls you into a hug and you sigh, your muscles relaxing. You hadn't even noticed how tense you'd been but your muscles were practically twitching with how strained they were. You hug Kanaya back, your face pressing into her shoulder and another deep breath leaving your body.

 

You hear Eridan give a cough and you jump back from Kanaya, your face burning in the dark.

 

She makes a noise of protest, but sounds smooth as ever when she says hello to Eridan.

 

“Hey, Kan,” he mumbles, boot toeing the ground. He twists his bat a few times and Kanaya says she brought her things for tonight.

 

She pops her trunk and pulls out 4 flashlights and a crowbar.

 

She shrugs when you ask why she brought the crow bar. “Wooden planks,” is her answer and it makes sense. “Sollux brought bolt cutters.”

 

Sollux pulls it out of the trunk, the huge pair of scissors looking menacing. “For fences,” he clarifies as you and Eridan eye him.

 

You both shrug and Feferi pulls you all together.

 

“Alright,” she begins, voice bubbling over with excitement. A hard grin is pulling at her face and you wonder if it hurts her to smile like that all the time;  _no one_ is that enthusiastic normally. “We're going into the abandoned shipping district thats a few blocks down from here. With any luck we might be able to find any leftover surplus cargo that the port authority didn't clear out when it was shut down!”

 

Sollux grins to the side and you wonder how he can see in the dark with those stupid fucking glasses. “You seem excited, FF.”

 

She gives him a smaller, more intimate smile and you stomp harshly on Eridan's foot before he decides to say anything. He makes a quiet yelp before grabbing your hand and trying to break your fingers. Kanaya ends up pulling you two apart, tells you to behave or she'll throw you both in the bay, and then you're all on your way, sloughing it down the street.

 

You walk next to Kanaya and she makes small quips about what your doing that never fail to bring a small, contented smile to your face. She knows how to make you happy, and you are eternally grateful for her presence.

 

 

Feferi walks with Sollux, her arm around his. You sometimes hear her laugh at something he said and you wince a little. You feel bad for Eridan, and you don't really have anything to tell him aside from that you didn't know Sollux was actually capable of flirting with people.

 

Eridan walks next to Feferi for a bit before jogging up a little to stride next to you and Kanaya.You let him walk between you two and you include him in your little conversations and pretty soon, you're at one of the large abandoned warehouses that line this part of the coast.

 

Feferi bounds into gear first.

 

She gives a quiet squeal and rushes forward, grabbing the mesh fence and scaling it with a rather large amount of ease. She drops down on the other side and beckons you all over.

 

Eridan goes over next, and then Sollux, then yourself, then Kanaya and you're all left staring at the large decrepit building.

 

You shrug and begin to walk towards it, Feferi joining you and pretty soon you're all faced with the chained doors, unable to pass. Sollux makes a smart comment that makes you want to backhand him, and cuts the links off the handles and then you're all inside.

 

“Wait!” Feferi exclaims before you all walk inside. She pulls a small camera out of her jacket and tells you all to pose.

 

When you all stare at her as if she'd sprouted tentacles, she clarifies.

 

“I want to remember this!” she says and tells everyone to line up so she can take a picture.

 

You all do and she does. Then she snaps one of herself in front of the building and puts the camera back in her pocket.

 

She walks in ahead of you, followed by Sollux and then Eridan. You roll your shoulders and saunter in, Kanaya following right next to you.

 

The inside of the building is nothing spectacular, really. It smells like the ocean and there's salt and rot everywhere. A part of the ceiling had caved in and lay splinters on the floor. The light from the moon and stars shines through the hole in the roof and makes everything look washed out and faded, with a strange blue hint.

 

Feferi is completely taken in and takes pictures of everything. She yanks Eridan and Sollux around, points to everything. You and Kanaya follow them, chatting aimless as you watch.

 

“Eridan looks like the picture of puppy love,” Kanaya comments as she watches him lift Feferi so she can peer over a loft.

 

“You know, he has a personality _past_ Feferi,” you state, eyes watching the same sight as Kanaya.

 

You hear a short chuckle from Kanaya. “ _I_ know that, but I don't think _he_ does.”

 

“And what's that supposed to mean, Kan?” Your voice isn't as hard as you want it to be as she analyzes your friend.

 

“He's only here because she wants to be, Karkat. I think he's formed himself around her and really does want to make her happy. It would probably be perfectly sweet if she loved him the way he loved her, though.”

 

You shrug. “Maybe he's just not destined to get the girl.”

 

Kanaya bumps shoulders with you. “I guess this is a little different than your usual romantic comedies, I take it?”

 

You look at her sideways, expression ugly. “I've found my life is the farthest thing from a movie it could probably get.”

 

Soon Feferi drags you all through the warehouse and soon you're at the back. Sollux cuts this door open too, and suddenly the salt smell of the ocean assails you so completely you want to puke. You turn away and take a few deep breathes through your sleeve to steady your stomach.

 

Feferi, however, steps forward and takes a deep breath, drinking in the scent of the old ocean water.

 

“It smells _wonderful_ ,” she comments and her eyes are closed. She holds her jacket tightly around herself.

 

You all stand near the edge of the dock and look out at the black ocean. It looked ominous to you, but Feferi and Eridan stated that it looked like home. They'd spent most of their childhoods at boarding school together, and since Feferi had swam, so had Eridan. The scent of salt, the smell of chlorine and churning and stagnant water was the smell of the place they felt the safest, most at home.

 

You all turn away to go and look at the decrepit building some more, but Eridan slips on a rotting plank and nearly falls off the side of the dock and into the ocean. You all lunge forward and grab him, pull him towards you. He's fine as he falls into you all, but his bat and flashlight are lost to the sea as they fall into the waves with a soft _plunk_ , the noise eaten by the crushing roils of the water.

 

Eridan laments that he could have died and Feferi pets his face until he calms down and then he begins to lament the loss of his items.

 

Kanaya rolls her eyes and hands him her flashlight and crowbar. He gives her a sheepish grin and a thanks before turning back to Feferi. Sollux suggests we get away from the freezing ocean and you all go inside.

 

Pretty soon it's all drawing to a close and you must say, you're not as underwhelmed by the situation as you thought you'd be. The whole experience is not entirely unpleasant. There's a certain kind of emotion the whole setting elects from you, and it's not happiness or sorrow. It's more like a soft contentedness, being with your friends and just having fun with each other. For the first time in a while, you feel mostly at peace.

 

It figures everything would get completely fucked.

 

As you're all ready to walk out, Eridan missteps again. It was a piece of rotted wood that gave way under his foot, and you suspect he loses his footing as Feferi and Sollux were having a pretty intimate closed discussion a few feet away, and his arms fly out to stop himself from face-planting in the ground. The crowbar Kanaya had handed to him flies out and whips past her.

 

You yell at Eridan to be more careful, you could have bludgeoned someone to death. You turn to Kanaya to ask her if she's alright, and with a feeling in the pit of stomach like getting stabbed again, you see that she is _not_ alright.

 

She's on her knees on the ground, her hands clutching at her neck. Sollux shines his flashlight on Kanaya and you see red pushing itself out from between her fingers. She lets out a scream and looks at you, green eyes wild and _afraid_.

 

You rush over to her and put your hands on hers, trying to press her blood back into her body. You scream at everyone else to call someone, call for help do _something_ to help. The blood leaking onto your hands and sleeves and shirt smells coppery and feels like oil, thick and warm and makes your stomach clench sickly.

 

Everyone else springs into action almost suddenly.

 

Feferi and Sollux sprint out of the warehouse, shouting the whole while that they need help, someone call the police! You hear their cries of distress as they try to attract a passerby as they run down the street.

 

Eridan comes to sit next to you and offers his scarf and you take it, replacing your hand with the soft article of clothing. Eridan's babbling almost incoherently, he's sorry Kan, are you alright, does it hurt, oh my _god are you alright please be okay!_

 

You can hear your blood pounding through your ears as you hold your friend in your arms. She speaks weakly, the sound not quite reaching your ears until a moment after she's made it.

 

 _She doesn't want to die_.

 

“You'll be fine, Kanaya!” you say, louder than you'd meant to.

 

She looks scary, there's blood all over her face and it's leaking down her arms and all over her clothes.

 

_I don't want to die!_

 

You tell her she'll be fine, you won't let her get hurt, she'll be alright, you can fix this, you're her best friend, you don't know what you'll do if she dies, so she won't die! Simple as that!

 

 

Eridan asks how she's feeling and you tell him to shut up, your voice vicious and angry and it smacks you that he has the _audacity_ to ask how she is after he fucking sliced her neck.

 

After three minutes, Kanaya begins to shiver and she says that she feels cold, and you pull her closer to your body, your hand tightening over hers and Eridan's scarf. The blood continues to flow, less of it now, thinner and pretty soon she passes out. You shake her, call out to her and watch the shallow flutters of her chest as they slowly peter out into nothing.

 

You swallow and ask, “Kanaya?” You look around and there's more blood outside her body than you thought was inside her in the first place.

 

She doesn't answer and you shake her a little, her head lolling on her shoulders. Her eyes are shut and her mouth is hanging open. You swallow again and call her name.

 

She still doesn't answer and you hold her closer to yourself. She still feels warm, _alive_.

 

 _She's not dead_ , you tell yourself. _She just passed out_.

 

You feel tears prick behind your eyes and you swallow, throat tight and you feel the tears leak out and it's suddenly all too much. You begin to sob, wretched things pulling themselves from your stomach and lungs. You cry so hard that you begin to retch and you let go of her and crawl over to the side where you really _are_ sick, puking up probably everything you've ever eaten in your life. The shot you took earlier vacates your system along with anything else that your body may have used for sustenance.

 

You stop vomiting and just retch a few times before you drag your hand across your face and get blood in your mouth and then you're puking again, bile the only thing your body can offer as you spasm.

 

You feel Eridan place a hand on your shoulder and you fucking _lose it_.

 

You flinch away from him and stumble to your feet. You scream at him, tell him that it's his fault so he should fucking _fix it_. Where's his goddamn family now that he took his friend away? You feel so mad; the blue light that was leaking through the ceiling seemed red now, pulsing and angry. You lunge for Eridan and he screams as you beat him senseless.

 

He tries to fight you off, shoving you off and trying to run, but he's crying too and it makes him even more of a physical wreck than you are. He's too slow and you grab him again from behind, slam him into the ground and you fall on top of him.

 

You feel something break under the weight of your body, and you _know_ you broke at least one of his ribs. He sobs and then screams; the sound piercing through your eardrums and you just grab his shoulders and then slam him back into the ground. He manages to kick his legs until he connects with your crotch and you roll off of him groaning. You grab his sneaker before he can get away and he falls to the ground again.

 

He's sobbing and covered in his and Kanaya's blood, his nose burst open. You pull him towards you and punch him again. His glasses break even further and a second slam of your fist breaks them completely off his face.

 

He's screaming the entire time and you just need him to _stop_. You're so angry at him that you just keep beating him in the face until he stops screaming and it registers in your head that you might kill him but it doesn't manage to permeate the rage clouding over all your limbs, leaving you shaking with energy and sorrow.

 

You don't stop beating him until his face is ripped up and bleeding everywhere, and even then you only stop because Feferi and Sollux pull you off of him. They're followed by three police officers who restrain you from killing the boy sprawled in front of you. You fight them off of yourself and even nail Sollux in the gut, leaving him wheezing. You hit one of the officers but they don't go down, instead slamming you into the ground with your hands pinned behind yourself, your face pressing into the ground. You're breathing heavily as you're restrained and cuffed, a measure they're surely employing to stop you from attempting to kill Eridan after they hoist him off the ground.

 

You hear a soft sob come from Feferi and see her as she holds him. He comes to almost immediately after they get him off the ground and he seems dazed until he looks at you and you can't see his expression under all the blood and broken skin and dirt, but you swear he looks _sorry_.

 

–

 

The police call for an ambulance but it's no good. They cart all of you back to the hospital and Kanaya is declared DOA. Time of death was 12:32 AM. High is 6 feet, 0 inches. Eye color, green, hair color, black.

 

All of your families are called and Kankri sees you in the hospital looking dead for the third time in your life. You can't make eye contact with him. The blood had been cleaned off your hands but it still soaked all of your clothes and made them stiff. He doesn't say anything, just sits next to you.

 

Sollux stayed with you, and, surprisingly, so had Feferi. Eridan had been admitted to the hospital with a broken nose, jaw, sprained neck, dislocated shoulder, 3 _fractured_ ribs and 2 _broken_ ones. You'd almost killed him. You probably _would_ have killed him if you hadn't been pulled off of him.

 

The terrible thing is that you didn't _care_ if you'd killed him. He goddamned deserved every slam you'd given him and then some. He'd killed your best friend. He'd taken her away from you, and it made you sick to think about him now. It made you shake with rage and adrenaline to hear him spoken about and it scared you. You'd never gotten into such a serious fight before and Eridan had barely made a scratch on you. You had a black eye and bruised ribs, but that was it. Almost all of the blood had been his or Kanaya's.

 

Kanaya's mother had shown up to identify the body and Kankri and her remaining daughter had held her while she sobbed over the loss of her youngest. She didn't get mad though, which made it worse for you. If she had been mad at you for taking her out or mad at Eridan for killing her, you'd have been able to deal with it. Anger was something you understood. It was something you lived on, and it was familiar.

 

Sorrow and pity made you afraid with emotions you didn't understand. It made you want to cry and puke even more and made you wish you had a drink _right fucking then_. It made you shaky and you wanted to just get so hammered you couldn't remember your name. You wanted to drown yourself in it until it didn't _matter_ that it hurt this much.

 

Kankri takes you back to his apartment later on and you stay there for 3 days, locked in your room. You don't leave and at first you think it's just the sorrow that makes you shiver and shake, but it gets worse and you maybe begin to think it could be withdrawls. Everything hurts more and you smell like liquor even though you hadn't had any to drink since that night. Kanaya had asked you to control yourself and you goddamn _would_. You'd break yourself like this and then you'd be able to have one drink and _want_ another, not _need_ it.

 

Kankri is worried about you. He brings you food in the form of soup and he considers admitting you to a hospital, but you beg him not to. He tells you that Kanaya's wake and funeral are in the next few days and you pull yourself out of your shaking puddle of hate and pity long enough to be present for both.

 

No one asks how your hands shake the way they do or why you won't let anyone touch you. No one questions it when you excuse yourself when you're asked to speak, and why you don't cry, just shake and retch in the bathroom. Your skull throbs and you're constantly sweating and Kankri tries to drag you to the hospital, but you fight him off.

 

After 6 days, you begin to get better. Six days after Kanaya passed away, the tremors begin to subside and the headaches stop coming in such frequency and severity. Your sweating stops and you can sleep without spasming into consciousness. At the 8 day mark, it's almost completely gone, replaced only by the sorrow and emptiness that distance from Kanaya causes in you. You sleep for almost 3 days straight before you wake up and drink an entire gallon of water in one sitting. You promptly throw up and Kankri gives you more in small glasses.

 

He tells you that Sollux tried to see you, but he didn't want him to see you like that. You ask where he is, and he tells you to call him later. Kankri gives you something to eat and you pick at it, your stomach aching for food but feeling too tight to actually accommodate anything you try to give it.

 

You sleep again that night and the next day, Kankri brings you to your college to sign the form for leave due to bereavement. You're also informed that Eridan Ampora was asked to leave after the events that transpired and Feferi Peixes had left of her own free will. You numbly acknowledge this information, and find it hard to suppress the flare of rage you feel at the mention of _his_ name.

 

You go to your room and see your bottles of liquor and take them with you. You bring them home and dump them down the bath tub, watch as it flows down the drain and you remember Kanaya _asking_ you to stop poisoning yourself.

 

You feel your resolve steel itself and you _tell_ yourself that you're going to get your shit together.

 

It will be 1 month before you return to school to declare your major as psychiatry. It will be 3 _years_ before you have another drink again. You never hear from Eridan or Feferi ever again, and you feel it is for the best.

 

You never hear from Kanaya Maryam again, either, and you know that that is certainly for the worse.

 

 

**More Heart Than Brains: 11.2**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are 10 years old.

 

Today is the day that all new kids are showing up in your classes. Ever since the school district next to yours got cut, you were now sharing facilities with near 2,000 other students. Your own class has doubled in size and you have another teacher in the room. Additions were put onto every school in your system and where now the same size plus a half.

 

This is your first day of your 5th grade year, and you could not be more excited.

 

You were sure to wear the best shirt you could find, making completely sure you put a first good impression forth with the new kids. New pants, new shirt, new shoes, new backpack, new you! You look at yourself in the mirror and it's like you're a completely different person!

 

You laugh a little to yourself at the absurdity of the idea that a change of clothes can change a person. You get ready to leave your house and pretty soon you're at school, book bag strapped to your back and carry-on bag in hand.

 

You walk inside and find the middle school very _unfamiliar_. It has thinner halls and is about three times the size of your elementary school. There are fewer murals on the walls and hardly any of the bright colors and paintings you remember decorating the doors and walls outside off classrooms.

 

It feels foreign and cold and you are reminded of just how excited you are.

 

You manage to find your classroom with little incident, taking in the soft beige walls of the room and the pink plastic chairs. The sunlight shining through the windows is warm and it makes the desks close to the window hot to the touch. You choose one close to the wall opposite the windows and close to the front, but not the first desk.

 

You sit and wait for your teacher, the excitement in you mounting. Yet another year with Vriska, and so many new unfamiliar faces. Maybe the two of you will make new friends, ones that won't brand you and Vriska as the step child and the sadist. Even though they were true, it was the certain kind of sadness that your mother expressed when she realized that her daughter only really had one friend that made you determined to make new friends.

 

Your teacher comes in and calls roll-call. Everyone here has last names that begin with O, P, R, and S. Vriska is not here and you frown a little, disgruntled that she's not in your homeroom.

 

However, it's soon over as the first bell rings and you all make your way to your respective classes.

 

You go to your science class, the first one on your roster. As the third person to enter, you take in the sight of the room before you.

 

It's startlingly filled with _dead things_.

 

There are stuffed animals mounted on the walls and skeletons around the room. A model human one is at the front of the room and it is surrounded by posters of the various human muscle and organ systems. Half the room is reproduction marble desks and the other half are cool, pebbled black lab tables. There are cabinets lining one side of the room, filled with microscopes and boxes of slides. An old beehive is on top of one of the cabinets along with diagrams of various bio systems.

 

You take a seat at one of the reproduction desks and sniff; the air in the room is too clean, it smells like bleach and stings a little to breathe. You wait for more kids to filter in and pretty soon you spot a familiar face surrounded by a mass of blonde curls.

 

A smile splits your face, ugly and sincere, and you see a kid who was about to sit down by you walk away.

 

Vriska spots you and grins right back, lips pulled tight across her overbite with her glasses flashing dangerously. She comes and sits down in the seat recently vacated by the other kid.

 

“Hey, Terezi, looks like we have science class together,” she states matter-of-factly as she examines one of the notebooks she was carrying. It's red with a glossy pebbled cover.

 

You scoff at her. “Good job on stating the obvious, Vris.”

 

She grins even wider and points to the kids trickling into the room. “Look at the girl in the back. The Asian one.”

 

You turn and look around at the girl Vriska specified. She's short and round with black hair that's too long for her body. It hangs in front of her awkwardly, making her chubby body look even wider. She's aimlessly scribbling in the notebook in front of her, looking up and around quickly every couple of seconds.

 

You turn back to Vriska. “What about her?” you ask, wondering why she dragged your attention towards the new girl. “There are tons of new kids this year.”

 

Vriska leans in and speaks lowly to you. “Well, it's just the beginning of the day but people are already talking about what a freak she is.”

 

You frown at the meanness kids show and remember that you and Vriska aren't much better. You're reminded of all the foul things you've done since you were small, from flushing your sister's things down the toilet to stealing other kids' things from their cubby holes.

 

“And?” you prompt her.

 

“ _Aaaaaaaa_ -nd,” she begins, drawling the word in her classic tones. “Apparently her family runs a funeral home, and at her old school, she invited someone to her house and locked them in one of the coffins with a _body_ inside it.”

 

You snort at the absurdity of her statement. “That's stupid, who would ever believe that?”

 

“Everyone does, that's the _point_ , moron.”

 

“Vriska, you're not going to bully her, are you?” you ask, turning to look at the girl again.

 

She looks up from her scribbling and sees you staring, gives you a sunny smile that squishes her face so much, her eyes close. You give a grin back and she laughs before looking down again.

 

You turn to Vriska and she rolls her eyes. “No, I think we need to extend an olive branch to her and her friend.”

 

You raise an eyebrow at her. “She has a friend?”

 

“Yeah, you have to get up with the times.”

 

“School started 15 minutes ago!”

 

“So get on the ball.”

 

The bell rings and the teacher calls for everyone to be quiet while he introduces himself. You whisper to Vriska, asking her what she has in mind. She pushes her bangs out of her eyes and writes her schedule on it for you.

 

You examine it before writing your own down for her and handing it over. You compare and find that you have this class and two others, including lunch together. That makes for 4 periods out of the day's 8 that you are together.

 

The 3rd class of the day, one you do not have with Vriska, you have with the new girl and her friend. You learn their names, her name is Aradia Megido and she talks with an accent and when she had to provide an ice breaker to the class about herself, she offered, “I really like taxidermy.”

 

After she explained to the class what it was, most everyone looked at her with their heads screwed to the side. People who went to school with her previously rolled their eyes and turned away, you had continued to stare, finding her interesting in spite of what your peers might see in her.

 

Then, her friend introduced himself. His name is Tavros Nitram and he stutters. _A lot._ He seemed real nervous and shrunk into himself when he was asked to speak, too tall and he possessed an accent as well. Something Hispanic. He likes to collect Pokémon cards and play board games. No one really looks at him when he talks, and it actually seems make him both relieved and angry at the same time. Maybe he doesn't like being ignored. Maybe he doesn't want to be so nervous.

 

You're eventually asked to introduce yourself and you do so, stating your proclivity for drawing as one of your hobbies. You know Tavros and Aradia are friends by the way he immediately moves to sit by her and how they whisper to each other. You sit by them, not quite listening in, but not ignoring them either.

 

Aradia notices you a few times and smiles, speaking with her thick voice and straight hair. She asks you how you are and you grin widely, open and you tell her perfectly fine, then ask her the same.

 

She says she's excited to be in a new school! But she misses her old one.

 

Tavros manages to spit out that some of the rooms are too cold. You notice he's missing one of his teeth and when he talks it makes a whistling noise.

 

You have your next period class with Vriska and Tavros and he walks towards you after surveying the room and finding no one else he's as acquainted with as you.

 

He stands next to you and gives you a smile, tooth making a dark gap on his top row of teeth.

 

Vriska matches his smile but hers is harder and more animalistic, as is per usual for her.

 

“Hey, Terezi, make a new friend so early today?” Vriska asks but she's not looking at you. She's staring at Tavros, hard, and he makes a confused face at her.

 

“Uh,” he manages out.

 

You roll your eyes and gesture to Vriska, then Tavros, announcing their names for each other. You name Vriska as your friend and Tavros as a boy in your class, he's friends with Aradia.

 

Vriska throws her arm around Tavros' shoulder and steers him to come and sit down by you and her. He lets her move him, looking at her oddly as she asks how he's adjusting to life in the Big School.

 

He shrugs and states that it's too cold, the same grievance he expressed to your earlier. You guess it is a little chilly here, but you find it more cold in feeling than temperature, remembering the lack of student touch and color you had noticed when you first walked inside.

 

Next period, you have lunch and are very surprised when Tavros follows you as you and Vriska leave your classroom for the cafeteria. Vriska is happy, hungry to have a new follower, and pulls him towards her as you and her look for a table. You all sit and wait for the lunch line to go down while Tavros just _takes it_ as Vriska pokes and prods him.

 

He sees Aradia and moves to get up to go to her, but Vriska pulls him down and waves Aradia over instead. She comes and sits next you, across from Vriska and Tavros. She pulls out a lunch that is surely not from this country and merrily begins to eat, talking aimlessly with you, Tavros, and Vriska.

 

You and Vriska eventually get up to get your own lunch and she asks you how it's going.

 

“How's _what_ going?” you ask as you grab a textured green tray and stand behind a tall boy.

 

Vriska gestures to the general direction of your table. “All _that_.”

 

“ _Those_ , Vriska, are _people_.”

 

She rolls her eyes and shoves you. “Yes, I can see that.”

 

“Really, because you kept poking him to see if he'd react.”

 

She grins. “And he hasn't! He seems very mild.”

 

“I think he just has a lot of patience.”

 

“And don't you think that makes him the perfect friend for us?” she asks, eyes narrowing to grin at you sideways.

 

You mimic her expression and whack her with your tray. “Do you really think they'll _want_ to be friends with us.”

 

“Well,” Vriska states as she stands taller and crosses her arms over her chest. “I don't really think they're in any position to reject friendship, Tez.”

 

You consider her words and the faces of the students as they'd stared at Aradia. You remember the magnificent ignoring Tavros endured and come to the conclusion that they probably could use all the friends they could get.

 

Years later you'd think back on that conclusion and think that you and Vriska just should have _stayed away._

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are 12 years old. You are sitting in your room at the hospital, magnificently unhappy and feeling a startling amount of self-pity.

 

You sigh and close your eyes, feeling the smooth, cool glide, as they run over the balls of plastic stuck in your skull. You press your hands to them and you hurt yourself almost immediately, feeling the pain as your bruised eyes and muscles resent the pressure of your fingers.

 

You open your eyes and are in shock, yet again, that the darkness doesn't lift and the room doesn't come into view. This is the 32nd time this has happened today, by your counting, and it's only noon. Or, at least you _think_ it's noon; your mother had told you the time when you had asked for it a little while ago.

 

You ask her again and she says it's 8 minutes after 12, her voice too loud.

 

 _Everything_ is too loud. You can hear the whirring of machine and the sounds as your mother shifts in her chair. The creaking of the floor panels as someone walks into the room. The squeaking of a hospital bed as someone is wheeled down the hallway.

 

You hear your sister as she proclaims that Vriska is here to see you.

 

Your mother asks Vriska if she can leave, and Vriska straight-up _refuses_.

 

You grin and reach in front of yourself. One arm staying back once it meets the resistance of the tubes attached to it.

 

Vriska grabs your hand from your right and you turn your head towards her. You hear her breathing and the rustle of her clothes as her cast brushes against them.

 

Your mother asks her to leave and you croak out that you want her to stay. Your mother, not in a state to fight with you, silently relents and you hear her leave the room with Latula.

 

You feel the slant of the bed shift as Vriska climbs on next to you.

 

“So,” she begins, her words short and not filled her usual pomp. “When are you coming home?”

 

You swallow and give a cough and your throat burns, having acquired an infection following the implantation of your new eyes. You hold onto her hand, something real and familiar and you _know_ what she looks like so you try to build a picture of her in your head.

 

You guess you never really looked at her hard enough, as the image you manage to conjure up in your head falls short of the flesh and blood hand in yours.

 

“Day after tomorrow,” you state, pulling yourself closer to her. You pull a magnificent yawn and she asks if you're tired.

 

“Nah, I just haven't been sleeping well without my eyes.” You scoot even closer.

 

She lets you sit practically on top of you and you suddenly hear her laugh.

 

“What is it?” you ask, frantically trying to see the source of her good humor.

 

“Tavros drew a spider on my cast,” she says, still chuckling a little as she offers her left hand to you. The appendage is like a club as she holds it out for your grasping hands to find. “Here, look--” she says before cutting herself off and your face puckers as if you'd just swallowed a lemon.

 

She mumbles that she's sorry and it's so foreign for you to hear that your sockets begin tearing before you can stop them.

 

“Oh, _shit_ ,” she whispers, expressing her wish that you hadn't begun to cry with the muttered curse. She hurriedly gives you a fumbling hug, trying to get her broken hand to comply with her wishes.

 

You grab her arms, not hugging her back. You hold onto her because she's the only solid thing you can find right now, next to the bed under your ass. You're not crying because you're sad; you're crying because you're _angry_. You never cry for yourself, you cry because you have no other suitable outlet for your emotions towards everything else.

 

If Vriska hadn't apologized for a slip of the tongue, if Tavros hadn't apologized for tripping, if your mother hadn't apologized for ever letting you mix with Vriska Serket, you think you'd be in a much better emotional state right now.

 

You bring a hand up to scrub at your face, rub the tears away. You breathe in and out a few times before you tell Vriska that you're fine, you've been tearing a lot lately. Your implants are irritating your skull.

 

You grip the shirt covering her arms and realize it's not the low-grade hospital gown. “When did you get out?” you ask, feeling the thick fabric under your palms.

 

She clears her throat and adjusts yourselves so that you're both comfortable. You're still clutching her arm when she answers. “I got out two days ago. Tavros is getting released in a few weeks.” You hear her mumble, “Aradia hasn't woken up yet.”

 

You ignore her statement about Aradia. “My mom didn't tell me.”

 

“She never liked me very much anyway.”

 

You move the conversation away from there and reach for her face, a little hesitant. She leans forward and your hand awkwardly hits her nose. She complains that her face is still bruised and you ignore her as you feel around her left eye.

 

“Strange,” you murmur as you run your fingers around her eyelid. “Your eye still feels like it's there.”

 

“I got a shiny new fake one,” she says and you finish her sentence in your head, _“Just like you.”_

 

You swallow. “Where are your glasses?”

 

You feel her shrug. “What's the point?”

 

You take your hand from her face.“Um, eyesight?”

 

She scoffs, the noise familiar to you. “Well my good eye got blown out so I have left is my bad one.”

 

You frown at her. “It's not your _bad_ one. It's your _normal_ one. Put your glasses back on, Vriska.”

 

You feel her staring at you, and it makes you uncomfortable. You turn away from her and your eyes reflexively look down. It's so _weird_ to experience, everything is just black. You can't see light or even the fake shadows your eyes conjure up when a room is pitch black.

 

“You know,” Vriska begins and you can tell she's no longer looking at you. “I think my mom is sad about my eye.”

 

“Hey, I think my mom might be too!”

 

Vriska laughs. “Alright, Tez, that was an easy one.” She sobers quickly. “Nah, it's just all the people in my family have 'better than perfect vision!' and you know how my mother is and how important it is to her that something marks us as family.”

 

You snort, the sound wet and your throat stings. “Vriska, you all look literally exactly the same.”

 

You feel her wave her hand at you, the breeze fanning your slightly damp face. “Whatever, this was like a mark for her. I think it made her feel hella special that her and her daughters all had something in common, something that you couldn't dye away or change.”

 

You're silent and she sighs, the bed bouncing a little as she shifts around. Suddenly, she gives a short laugh. “I remember when my mom took me to the eye doctor for a check up and she found out that I had 8/20 vision in one eye. She was so happy, she got me a prescription so my other eye wouldn't drag down the 'Serket Sight.' She took me out for ice cream and my glasses looked just like hers. I guess I never really thought that she _liked_ the idea having a family like the ones you see on TV who all dress the same and you can tell they're a family.”

 

Your best friend sounds sad and you reach out a hand to her. You feel like she's over-analyzing her relationship with her mother, but what do you know? You _know_ Vriska's mom had a colorful past and that she was a bit of a demanding woman, but she loved her daughters.

 

“It's not your fault, you know,” you say suddenly. You need to clarify with her that if you'd just stopped Tavros from going or if you'd gone to help with Aradia that maybe you wouldn't be here. Maybe you just would have broken a limb or maybe nothing at all. Maybe Vriska wouldn't be feeling insecure, something you _know_ she would never tell you aloud but that you're certain she's feeling.

 

“Huh?” Vriska asks, seeming to be surprised by the suddenness of your statement.

 

“That this happened,” you say, pulling a hand from her and gesturing to your face. “It's mine. I should have gotten out of the way instead of staring.”

 

“Oh, _maaaaaaaan_ , Terezi, don't lay that on me!”

 

“Well, I don't want you blaming yourself!”

 

“Trust me, Tez, I only blame myself that it happened, not that anyone got hurt. Enough people are blaming me right now enough so that I don't have to.”

 

“That's a very selfish view,” you point out, relieved to hear the Vriska you'd known your whole life begin speaking.

 

“I know it is, that's probably why I've taken it.”

 

You smile and you know she does, you can hear the pulling of her lips like you never did before. The rustle of her curls as they roll over her shirt is more apparent to you than ever and you wonder how you'd ever heard anything before.

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you are 14 years old. You are currently in Aradia's hospital room, blithely decorating her bland room as she lies comatose on her mattress. You hear the pumping of her bed as it inflates and deflates to move her limbs to keep the blood flowing. The air in the room smells sharp, the antiseptic and lack of dust startling to your nose.

 

You tap your way over to Aradia's bed and begin to feel your way along the railings on it, twisting the streamers through them. Your hands brush against the blankets, and they feel warm and clean. You pause a little as you tie the colored paper to the metal and take in the presence of your friend.

 

It's strange, standing here with her. She was always so bright and happy. _Is_ bright and happy. She's not dead, as evidenced by the whirrs and pumps proclaiming that she is still worth saving. You run a hand over her blanketed leg, smooth the textured fabric over her. She doesn't stir and you want so _badly_ for her to wake up so you can show her her room and maybe for her to tell you that you haven't lost your knack for art yet.

 

You take your cane and feel around behind you for a chair and wait for Vriska and Tavros to show up. You listen to the not-so-quiet silence for a few moments before you decide now's as good a time as any to fill Aradia in on what's happened so far.

 

“So,” you begin as you speak to the air in front of you. “Happy birthday, Aradia!”

 

You hear her breathing tube reply with a whir and you nod.

 

“I've been good, myself,” you continue, facing down at your shoes. “I haven't been around in a while because I've just started at that new school for the blind I told you about last time I was here. Our high school didn't have an aid for me, so my mother enrolled me at this school where everyone has a disability.

 

“Most everyone is either blind or deaf, but there are a few kids with social disorders there too. There's a girl with autism in my art therapy class, and she's really nice. She doesn't even seem like she has a problem at all; you wouldn't know it unless she told you! Of course it's still an issue if she's _there_. Whatever, it's actually a really fun place.

 

“But, remember how I was saying I was going to be an artist? That's a little bit out of my reach now, but I've wanted to be a lawyer for just as long. And this is the perfect place to start! Sure, it a little out my way, but I really think that I work hard enough I can do it. I mean, I'm done being mad about being blind. It's time I got off my ass and got myself somewhere. And hey, you never know, maybe you'll wake up soon and I can show you all around my new school. You'll be able to see the present we all made for you. I'll read the parts that are in braille to you, if you want me to.”

 

Tavros and Vriska show up then, a cake and a radio sitting on Tavros' lap. You turn and grin as you hear his wheels skipping over the smooth flooring.

 

“Wow,” Vriska says and you hear her park Tavros. “This room looks terrible.”

 

You smile even wider when you hear Vriska's usual drawling tones. “I could only do so much with what you gave me. I'm not a miracle-worker!”

 

You hear Tavros lay the scrap book you'd all made on Aradia's legs. “Hey, Aradia, we all made you this.”

 

“She can't hear you, Tavros,” Vriska comments from your right where she's setting up her stereo.

 

“Actually,” you correct her, “her doctor said she might be able to. She's showing pretty good brain activity.”

 

“Then why isn't she awake yet?” Vriska replies simply. “Oh fuck yeah, it works!” she exclaims as her radio sputters to life.

 

You hear Tavros voice a noise of protest as you get up to strap a party hat to his head. “It doesn't work like that, Vriska, I don't think,” he replies as you place a second hat on the opposite side of his head. “She can totally hear us and she's probably worried about all the school she's missed.”

 

You snort. “I think school work is a little low on her priority list, Tav.”

 

“Hey, she _liked_ school.”

 

You swallow, hard, and correct him. “She _likes_ school, Tavros.”

 

You hear him silently remember that Aradia is very much alive, as is proclaimed by her various machines.

 

Vriska comes up behind you and places her left hand on your shoulder. It feels mangled and chewed and only has two fingers and a thumb on it. She gives you a squeeze and you feel uncomfortably warm.

 

“I didn't come here to throw a pity party, c'mon, let's eat cake and Terezi can tell us about her blind kid camp.”

 

You want to frown at her but you smile at her instead, too large and with too many teeth. Her hand slides down your arm and grabs your hand not holding your cane and tugs you with her towards the windowsill.

 

Truly terrible music is blaring and you hear Tavros chattering to Aradia about how he found a geode the other day, it was so cool and the crystals inside were a light purple. He gave it to her mother to put in her room.

 

You try not to hear Tavros as he speaks with your comatose friend. You distract yourself with Vriska.

 

You ask her what kind of cake she got.

 

You hear her pull out a knife. “Vanilla with butter cream frosting,” she replies as she slices into it. The smell of fresh cake assails your senses and you're reminded that you _like_ cake.

 

“That's Aradia's favorite,” you say absently, your hand feeling around for Vriska. You come into contact with her hip and she jumps with a curse.

 

“Fuck, Terezi!” she exclaims. “I could have sliced off a finger and I have precious few left.”

 

You feel a little sick at her joke, but laugh none the less. Your hand moves up to her shoulder where you give her a squeeze and hold onto her for reassurance.

 

She sighs and lifts a hand to touch yours for a second before returning to chopping up the cake. Your hand feels too warm and you think your fingers are swollen, too full of blood. The hand on your cane flexes and you blink a few times to get the ache out of your sockets.

 

Vriska begins to walk away and you follow her, still holding her shoulder for guidance. She hands Tavros a piece of cake before walking back to the sil and grabbing one for you and herself. She sits down on a wide hospital chair and urges you to sit down next to her. There's not really enough room and you end up sitting on top of her.

 

You all begin eating and everything is silent for a moment save for the sounds of chewing and Aradia's life functions. You're reminded of how delicious cake is, the sugar and light texture of the inside coating the inside of your mouth with the thin, sweet taste. It has coconut shavings on it and you recall that Aradia always put coconut shavings on her cake.

 

Vriska breaks the silence by announcing that she's going out for the hockey team this year. You as her why and Tavros says there's only a boy's team at your school. Vriska scoffs at Tavros' objection and states that she'll simply get onto the boy's team. Your hand brushes over hers and she laces her fingers with yours.

 

Your stomach flips, giddy and uncomfortable. It hurts a little, but it feels nice. You feel too warm again.

 

You feel Vriska's thumb lightly stroking over the back of your hand and you pull yours away with a start. _She's_ a girl, and isn't she just your friend? You hear the pout in her voice as she keeps pontificating without a beat. Your hand itches to crawl back to hers, but you keep it firmly away, truly uncomfortable with how uncomfortable you are with the situation.

 

Pretty soon Tavros' father shows up to pick his son up and you and Vriska are left there alone to clean up.

 

You both talk to Aradia and each other as you pick up the cake and pull the streamers from the wall. You go by the windowsill to pull away the streamers you'd tied there and feel around for them. As you yank them away from the grated walls, you sense Vriska come up by you.

 

You swallow a little dryly as her mangled hand brushes over your arm. You turn to her and open your mouth to say something, anything to just hear her speak in her wicked, drawling voice, but she lightly presses her lips to yours.

 

It's clumsy, and she pulls away to hover an inch from your face afterward. You're stunned, but you press forward to her and meet with her chin. She laughs, breathless and quiet, then she leans down and presses her lips to yours again.

 

She straightens up with you and her hands land on your hips, not pulling you closer or pushing you away, just keeping you there. Your hands hover at the space around you, lifting a little and then going back down before you lift them to her hips and pull her towards you a little.

 

 

Your stomach gives a hard clench as she makes a little groaning noise and her tongue brushes against your lips. Your mouth opens a little for her, and her tongue is clumsy at it runs over your bottom lip, pulling your lower lip into her mouth for a moment.

 

She tastes like cake and coconuts and the clove cigarettes she smokes in her basement. She tastes like your best friend who makes your head hurt and your stomach feel like it's turning itself inside out and your heart stutter erratically. You hear her breathing and feel her nose rub up against your cheek, her soft, choppy breathing ghosting over your face.

 

You pull away from her and give a dizzy little laugh, not quite sure of the expression you're wearing. You guess it's a mix between giddy and nauseous, which doesn't sound too appealing.

 

“Well, _fuck_ ,” Vriska mutters, her hands clenching and unclenching at your hips.

 

You let go of her and step away, your mind spinning rapidly and _fuck_ you wish you could see her face right now. You wish you tell if the breathless tone of her words was attributed to regret or wasted adrenaline or just too much sugar from too much cake.

 

“So, Vriska,” you manage to croak out as you feel around for your cane.

 

“So, Terezi,” she returns and you hear her softly walk away.

 

You panic and think she's left, so you call for her, but she's suddenly back and she presses your cane into your hand and the smooth titanium is cool in your thick, overheated fingers.

 

You hear her pack the cake up and lift it. You hear her whisper goodbye to Aradia, and she probably never meant for you to hear it. She offers a hand to you and you take it. It's her mangled one and suddenly it doesn't seem like it matters.

 

“So,” you start as she leads you from Aradia's room. “Are we friends?” God, you feel so stupid, what the fuck are you even saying? What the fuck just happened to you? This isn't a shitty 80's movie and you're both girls, but does that really matter? You trust her the most out of everyone you know, and maybe that's not the wisest of choices, but _fuck_ being wise, you're just a kid yourself.

 

Vriska laughs, but she sounds a little mad. “If that's what I am to you, then sure.”

 

You begin to think that maybe you don't _love_ Vriska, but you might be _in love_ with Vriska. It's a shame you can't read about how to tell the two emotions apart or take a class on why your gut fills with butterflies. It's a damn shame you're just expected to know what you feel and go with it.

 

“You're my best friend,” you reply as the two of you walk down a hallway, your cane tapping out the steps until the elevator. You feel shy and it disgusts you a little, but you blush and face your shoes regardless of how your brain is telling your skin how you feel. “I love you, Vriska, and believe me when I tell you to go and fuck yourself.”

 

You hear her grin in her voice, pull her relief from the drawls of her speech. “Well, fuck you too, Pyrope.”

 

She pulls you into the elevator, but she doesn't kiss you. She just clutches your hand in her three fingers and the gesture feels more intimate than her cake-and-cigarette laced kiss has minutes earlier.

 

Three weeks later, you _and_ Vriska are ready to put a name on your relationship. You had always loved each other like sisters, but when you think about all the admiration you held for her and all the protectiveness she held for you, you're kidding yourself if you ever thought you could _stay_ sisters.

 

A week after that, Aradia wakes up and it's not the glorious reuinion you'd envisioned, but something out of your deepest fears because you messed someone's mind up so badly that she needs to be retaught how to speak, read, _think_.

 

A mind is a precious thing to waste, and to think you'd wasted someone other than your own's.

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are 15 years old.

 

Vriska has just gotten her license and has offered to drive you and Tavros to her hockey game. You enthusiastically take her up on her offer and Tavros relents with the promise that Vriska isn't going to crash the car.

 

“Jesus _Chriiiiiiiist_ , Tavros,” Vriska had whined as she careened down the highway to the ice rink where her game was. “I'm missing an eye, not a sense of direction!”

 

You had grinned out the whistling window, and surely Vriska had to be approaching 70 miles an hour from the screaming of the wind.

 

At the rink, Vriska had unloaded Tavros, having become a veritable expert at folding and unfolding his wheelchair. You'd walked with her, your arms linked together, as she helped Tavros push himself up the handicap ramp and into the chilly building. She'd set you two up in the freezing spectator benches and told you two to wait there while she went and got suited up.

 

So, you're currently talking to Tavros.

 

You hear him take something out and ask what it is.

 

“It's my camera,” he clarifies and you say oh. He records most of the things that go on and shows them to Aradia. Only recently has she actually expressed a real interest in the videos, laughing at some of the minor things that happen.

 

It makes your brain sick to think even after a year, it's only _now_ just coming back to her that she can string words together into a sentence to express her emotions instead of just making faces of various emotions that you couldn't see. You never thought you'd think that even with Aradia moving and thinking and _being_ again that you still wouldn't be able to communicate with her.

 

You swallow, a hard lump bruising the inside of your throat, but your face is smiling, splitting at the seams. You're happy to be here, the familiar solid, freezing metal of the benches soothing you as your girlfriend goes and beats the shit out of boys on the ice.

 

“So, Tav, you really actually like coming to all of these games?” you ask, facing down at him from your perch on the bleachers.

 

You hear his clothes ruffle with a shrug. “Not really, no. I mean, it's just kids spitting teeth onto the ice and occasionally someone's mom yelling “goal!””

 

You crack an even wider smile. “So why come in the first place?”

 

He makes a noise that sounds like 'psshaw.' “Who else would tell you what was going on?”

 

“Despite popular belief, I _am_ actually capable of going somewhere by myself.”

 

“Aw, shit, Terezi, I know _that_. But who would, you know, describe the ways Vriska made someone cry _this_ time?” he asks, all faux sincerity and sarcasm. Holy _shit_ , you never get tired of Tavros' particular brand of humor.

 

You put on a false air of innocence, playing along with his statement as to why his presence is a necessity. “Well, Tavros, how would I ever get along without you and your extensive knowledge of synonyms for 'butthurt'?”

 

He let's out a short laugh and snorts, and then _you_ laugh and accidentally drub him with your cane.

 

He then slips on a curse in Spanish and you tell him that it's no fair when it's in another language.

 

He tells you it's no fair to drop stuff on him when you're higher up.

 

You frown at him and ask for your cane back.

 

He hands it to you and warns you to keep it the fuck away from his camera, that thing is probably worth more than his house.

 

You don't contend with him on _that_.

 

“Hey, Tav,” you say eventually. “Do you ever regret what happened?”

 

He seems surprised by your question, as you hear a distinct _lack_ of noise coming from him suddenly. He's silent for a few moments before he answers.

 

“Why, Tez?” he asks, sounding confused and a little far away.

 

“I dunno,” you reply, shrugging. “I remember you being tall enough to play basketball, don't you ever wish if you at least had the option to if you wanted?”

 

His tone is loose and he resumes fiddling with his camera and things. “I was never any good at sports. My physique is more of a _lie on the couch_ than a _center court, star of the team_.”

 

You face down at him and squint.

 

He asks you to stop, your glasses are freaking him out.

 

“C'mon, Tav, you're not even mad at anyone?”

 

“Well, I was mad for a little bit. Then disappointed. Then I got flames painted on my wheelchair and everything didn't seem so bad.”

 

“That was very funny, Tavros.”

 

You hear his crooked grin as he says, “It's the little things that make me feel better.”

 

You snort. “My friends are complete freaks.”

 

“Like you're one to talk!”

 

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Oh, _reaaally_ , Tavros? And what's so freakish about me?”

 

His tone says you already knew the answer and you just enjoyed hearing of others' fear for you. “To name one instance, there was that time you and Vriska lured that girl away from her friends and scared her until she wet her pants.”

 

You grin at the fond memory, fun times with Vriska and you're reminded why she was your only friend for the longest time.

 

You're about to reply before an announcer indicates that the game has begun and you and Tavros fall silent. The sounds of blades scraping along ice soon fill the room, followed by the thick clacks of the titanium-and-wooden sticks smacking the ice.

 

As the game wears on, you hear multiple people get smacked into the guards surrounding the rink. One kid gets knocked down and you hear time get called and he gets carried away on a stretcher, and then the game continues.

 

Every now and then, Vriska's muffled laughing can be heard. Her mouth guard keeps her vicious taunting to a minimum while also protecting the teeth she has yet to get knocked out of her skull. You remember her first game, she got one of her front teeth knocked out and promptly gotten a fake one put in. Then, 5 months later, she'd chipped one of her canines and gotten _that_ fixed.

 

Kissing her while she was missing teeth was actually a very strange experience.

 

You're still reminiscing on Vriska's oral health when she gets knocked in the head. Tavros keeps you informed on what happens, and you boo with him as it's not declared a foul.

 

Soon after that, Vriska gets struck in the head again, her helmet flying away from her. Then, a kid crashes into her and she cracks her head against the ice. You feel a sinking feeling in your stomach as Tavros tells you that Vriska's out cold. You don't have the best track record with friends and head injuries and you pray that she's alright.

 

After a few seconds, though, she's up, but she's dizzy. You hear her say she's fine, but she's dragged off the ice anyway to sit out the rest of the game. Tavros tells you she puts up a fight, but she's benched eventually. At one point, she throws up from her head injury. You and Tavros move over to where she's sitting with her team and wait out the game with her.

 

She's a little nuts from the blow to the head and keeps commenting that everything in the room is too bright.

 

Tavros thinks she has a concussion and you're just glad she probably doesn't have brain damage.

 

You're even happier when an EMT declares that she doesn't have a concussion. You ask if it's alright for her to drive. He says he wouldn't recommend it, but it should be fine.

 

After the game ends, with Vriska's team winning, Vriska is actually relatively fit the drive a car. She takes Tavros home first and on the way to both your street, she asks you if you want to go to her house or yours.

 

You think about going to your house for a moment before deciding it would probably be best to go to Vriska's. She'll probably want to celebrate her victory and her escape of brain injury. You pull into her driveway and you walk inside with her, counting out the familiar steps into her large home.

 

She calls for her mother, but she's not home.

 

“Go figure,” Vriska says, her shrug brushing your shoulder. “She's probably out getting arrested.”

 

You grin as she leads you into her basement. “Your faith in your parental until is striking.”

 

“Well, she get's thrown into overnight lock-up a _lot_.”

 

You trip a little down her staircase, a giggle that sounds more like a cackle bubbling from your throat. “Maybe it's a good thing you channel most of your aggressions into hockey, then. Otherwise, you'd probably spend more than your fair share of time in jail.”

 

She pulls you over to the worn corduroy couch that has held most of your memories with Vriska. It smells like cigarettes and Vriska's perfume, cloying and sweet. She pushes you down onto it and kisses you, your mouth closing over any retort she might have come up with.

 

You run your tongue over her bottom teeth and she groans, one of her knees jamming itself between your legs. She presses, hard and uncomfortable against you and it hurts a little but it's _Vriska_ , and despite the discomfort you love it. You give short jumps of your hips against her and you lift one of yours to press between her legs. She grins against your mouth and you break off from her and pull her closer to yourself.

 

She laughs, insane and disturbed. It sounds like Vriska, the perfect description for her. You press a kiss to her neck before pulling her shirt away to bite her, your teeth pressing into her warm skin. She hisses, her hips rolling against your knee. Her hands run over your hips, the rough pads of her thumbs making you groan into her neck before you press a hand between her legs.

 

She flinches and shoves you off of her, pulling you into a sitting position. She pulls your shirt off while you push her hair out of the way, your hands tugging at her jeans. You get the button and zip undone before you practically jam your hands down her pants, pushing the rough fabric away along with her underwear.

 

She pulls your hands out and kisses you. Her shirt comes off and you feel it fly past your head as she throws it away. You unbutton your own pants and push them off your legs, your underwear still clinging to your hips.

 

Vriska comments that you never wear nice underwear for her.

 

You say that she hardly looks at them anyway.

 

She kisses you again, a harsh press of her lips as her tongue slides into your mouth. Her hands run up your sides and undo the back of your bra, push the soft cups away from you. You do the same to her, her breasts soon pressing against your own.

 

You both moan at the sensation and breathe out that you love each other.

 

Her thigh is pressed firmly between your own and you can't help the way you grind yourself against her. Your own leg is between her own, and you both lie there, rocking together. You're both giggling at being with each other giddy at simply being with each other. In moments like this, it doesn't matter that your parents hate each other, or that your mom hates Vriska or that Vriska's mom loves you. It makes you forget that Tavros has a crush on Vriska or that Aradia was a vegetable for a year. Really, all you can think about is how you want to stay with Vriska forever, locked together like children as you fumble clumsily with love.

 

She kisses you, short and closed, and then moves to leave teeth marks in your shoulder. Her lips are chapped and her teeth hurt and you're pushed over the edge by her actions, screaming out nonsense mixed with her name. She shudders against you and follows, her own screams foreign to your ears in the wake of their ringing.

 

You tell her you love her and she tells you that she loves you back. You lie there and eventually you two fall asleep, curled together on the couch that smelled of clove cigarettes and perfume and your fondest memories,

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are 16 years old. You're going to college! It's a small school that's really only 45 minutes away from your home and one of the few places happy to have an underage blind law student.

 

You're pretty pleased as punch to be going. This is really an opportunity for you to prove yourself to people other than your family and friends. The idea that you could exist by yourself is quite the notion, even to your mother who insists that you be as self-reliant as possible. No weak children in this household!

 

Which is precisely why you don't understand why she got you a _dog_.

 

He's a mangy animal who's only a few years old with a name that's a seasoning. Upon graduation from your specialized school, your mother and father had announced that they had just finalized the papers for you to get a seeing-eye-dog.

 

A month before your school year starts, you had received the animal.

 

He is a German shepherd who walks too quietly and barks too loudly. He's too smart for his own good and he knows how to tell when traffic can kill you. The woman who gave him to you said his name was Pepper because of the patterns on his coat. Apparently he's freckled.

 

You'd asked if his name could be changed, and the woman said that she did not recommend it.

 

You'd decided to make it longer. Not long after getting him did you dub him Colonel Peppersteak. He wagged his tail when you told him and you found a soft spot for him after feeling his warm tongue softly lick your face.

 

Now you're in college with a dog you have just received and an aide that the school assigned to you.

 

She's a sweet girl with a mousy voice and wiry hair who takes you to your classes and gives your new dog treats. She's kind to you and helps you get situated and she picks you up from every class. You were told that she was going to be your best friend, but you only found yourself warming to her a certain degree.

 

For one, she was afraid of Vriska.

 

You also have the distinct feeling that she doesn't like her, but who actually _likes_ Vriska? You don't even think you like Vriska, but you sure as hell love her.

 

It's currently almost the end of your first year at the college, and Vriska comes to visit nearly ever weekend. You lead her around without the help of your aide and only the help of your faithful service animal.

 

In the past months, you'd warmed to him considerably. He liked Vriska and he'd saved your life numerous times. The one that really made you aware of the fact that he wanted to keep you safe what when you were walking and he'd laid down on your feet to keep you from going any further. You'd yelled at him and told him to move, pushing him with your shins as you pressed forward. A woman suddenly came up and grabbed your shoulder, telling you that you were about the push yourself down a staircase.

 

You were silent and you'd realized Peppersteak had saved your life. Pretty much exactly what he was trained to do, and you resented your mother's belief that you were incapable of true autonomy just a little bit less.

 

You have fantastic grades, your mind is as sharp as a tack, and you have friends who don't care that they're broken. Aradia has forgiven you and Vriska and apologized to Tavros. She's not mad about what happened, she's just so very glad to be alive!

 

If you didn't know any better, you'd swear there was nothing wrong with her, or any of your friends for that matter.

 

However, you do know better and god _dammit_ are you going to do everything in your power to make it better.

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are 18 years old. You are through with 2 years of your 5 year program, and your aide has left the school. There were conflicts with her scholarship, and you were promptly matched with another aide, someone in the home healthcare field.

 

Your dorm room has her in it. The first time you meet her, her voice is high and thick and she smells like metal.

 

“Nepeta Lejion!” she'd exclaimed, grasping your hand between her tiny paws.

 

Your mouth had broken into a wide, cracked grin as you'd introduced yourself as her latest burden.

 

“I'm sure it'll be fun,” she insisted before asking you what your dog was named.

 

“Oh,” you'd said, urging your faithful pup forward to introduce him to someone who might actually just be the lifelong friend you were promised years ago. “This is Colonel Peppersteak. Pep, sit!”

 

He'd done as you'd commanded and you'd told him to shake, and by Nepeta's peal of laughter, he'd done as you'd asked.

 

You and Nepeta had gotten along very nicely after your initial meeting, an everything was going quite well until you'd walked into your shared room and found it rather _crowded_.

 

A man with a large, deep-yet-quiet voice was sitting with Nepeta. At first, you'd thought he was her boyfriend and you'd interrupted something. Then, Nepeta had hastily clarified that Equius was her best friend, very best friend in the world!

 

You swallowed a little and chatted amicably with him until he'd left. Then, after he'd left, you'd asked Nepeta about him.

 

Nepeta is a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve. She's not weak by any sense of the word, but she's content to have no secrets between her friends.

 

“Well,” she'd started, her voice smooth and soft. “Equius came here today to visit me because he wanted to tell me that the bank had approved his loan to rebuild his father's gym.”

 

You'd quirked an eyebrow, your tone mischievous and a little daring. “Isn't a bit young to be owning a gym?”

 

“His father died this year,” Nepeta had clarified and you felt bad but you didn't show it. Dead parents never really seemed to be a savory topic to discus with friends. “And the gym was really rundown and Equius has the money to rebuild the gym three times over, but it's locked until he turns 21. So, he got a loan from his bank to build it again.”

 

“Why not just do something not as difficult?” you asked, pulling your legs up onto your bed with you.

 

You could almost hear her shrug. “His dad was really important to him, and he grew up in this place. He likes the smell of sweat, I think,” she said, her nose practically wrinkling along with her words. She breathes something green, cool and sweet like spring.

 

“That's gross,” you'd commented. Then, “Why did his father pass away?”

 

Nepeta was apprehensive as she'd answered, her words a little guarded and you could tell they weren't entirely hers to give away. “His father was in the army and received a dishonorable discharge after letting prisoners of war go. Then, he built the gym and married Equius' mother. She'd had his brother, then had him and a few months after he was born, she ran away and left his father with two kids. He kept up the gym but he never really fully recovered from having his wife leave him and he died suddenly of a heart attack about 6 months ago.”

 

 _That's quite the back story,_ you'd thought as you'd considered her spring-tinted words. Then, “So, is he going to school?”

 

“No, he's just going to try to pick up what his father left behind.”

 

“What about his brother?”

 

“His brother is actually an inventor! He works for some car company, designing more fuel efficient engines.” She paused for a moment before tacking on another fact about her friend. “Equius used to invent to, but he hasn't really had the time lately. I used to wrestle when I was younger and he used to enter those robot battling competitions.”

 

You were stunned. “You used to _wrestle_?” She sounded so tiny and felt just as much. Surely, she had to be kidding.

 

“Yes!” she's said brightly. “My school was part of a co-ed division so we had a boys and girls team. I was very good.” As an afterthought, she mentions, "I'd keep doing it, but there's nowhere around here for meets, so I guess I'll just work out."

 

A few days later, Vriska had come to visit.

 

You'd been avoiding her lately. You loved her still, but something felt different when she made fun of you or when you hurt her in some way. It wasn't what you wanted, but it was what you _had_. She was too aggressive and too gentle and too crass and you loved her too much for it to be healthy.

 

Vriska had looked around your room and asked Nepeta how she was doing. Nepeta had then commented that she needed to go, and you're _positive_ that she thought you wanted to be alone with Vriska.

 

You didn't.

 

Vriska had kissed you and you let her, for a moment, before breaking away. She'd tried to reclaim your lips, but you'd turned away from her with a grin plastered on your face. Smiling like a maniac was probably the only face people felt safe around you wearing.

 

She told you about Tavros, and how he was in school to become a vet. It sounded like something Tavros would do. Pepper had snuffled about your feet and you'd sat down so he could lie on them. Vriska sat next to you and you felt her stare at you for a long time before she asked you what the fuck was wrong.

 

“Nothing,” you'd muttered before taking a deep breath and saying, _“Us.”_

 

Vriska was confused and said she didn't get it, but you knew she did.

 

You love Vriska, and that was the problem. She was your best friend and the love of your life. But every moment with her was too dangerous, you were both too similar and yet not enough. If you enjoyed hurting others as much as she did, maybe it would have worked with you two. If she had a little more compassion, it might have worked. If you two hadn't thrown a wrench in your friendship by becoming lovers, maybe you wouldn't be feeling the intense urge to throw up every time you had to fake a crooked smile for someone.

 

She took you breaking up with her surprisingly well. You'd known each other for 13 years and you knew her cool dismissal of your relationship was more feigned than anything. She was mad and angry and if you were being real with yourself, you felt like she did. You wanted to tell her it wasn't her it was you, but it was _both_ of you. Your relationship was terminal and it was just as better to end it now than let it keep getting sicker.

 

She had left soon after you'd ended it and you wished you'd gone after her but you were glad that you didn't. It would have only hurt you both more and you might have started fighting in front of everyone. Peppersteak might have protected you from Vriska and you surely couldn't handle him hurting your best friend.

 

And really, when you think back on your relationship with Vriska, maybe that's all you'd ever really wanted from her. You'd wanted her to stay close to you, but you'd both misread it as a want to love each other.

 

–

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are 20 years old.

 

Equius finished repairing his gym a few months after you'd broken it off with Vriska. You try to keep communications with her to a minimum, so instead you call Tavros and Aradia for status reports.

 

Aradia. Fuck, there's somewhere things couldn't get worse.

 

Her parents had stuffed her in a mental facility which really wasn't as bad as you thought it was. She had autonomy and even had a small job working inside the building where she got money to spend when she left the place. It was more of a place to watch her and make sure she didn't forget where she was and end up hurting herself. She did fine and you and Vriska and Tavros visited her enough to where she still had constant, close friends.

 

Your own set of friends, separate from Aradia and Tavros and Vriska, soon clashed together.

 

When you were 19, Vriska still hadn't made a decision to go to school or try to find work. You'd grown tired of her indecisiveness, and had asked Equius for something you never really thought you'd need of the man.

 

You needed a _favor_.

 

He was looking for someone to work at his gym, and you'd graciously volunteered Vriska for the task. She'd rebelled at first, but soon warmed to the idea after her mother threatened to throw her out. Equius lived around 100 miles away, so she ended up having to move anyway, but you think it was worth it. She needed to get out from under her mother's roof and get _on_ with her life.

 

So, she worked for Equius as someone who cleaned the equipment. She felt it was a job that was below her, so Equius made her a deal. If she went and took classes at his community's college, he'd give her a job as a trainer in the gym. And so, Vriska underwent several courses in nutrition and anatomy and kinesiology and mineralogy, and after a year of schooling and working for Equius, she actually had a steady job she was good at.

 

It was remarkable how much Vriska enjoyed making people feel the burn. She was always bossy, and a job where she told people what to do really seemed to fit her.

 

After what he did for Vriska, you owed Equius _another_ thing you never thought you'd need.

 

You thanked him.

 

He really helped you and your friends out. You never thought you would actually feel anything past a toleration because he was Nepeta's friend, but he managed to prove a valuable ally to you. He helped you get your friend out of her pit of inactivity and make her productive, something you know you could not have managed on your own.

 

Years later, though, when you're 23 and after graduation from school, your faithful service animal hits the end of his line. He develops lung cancer, and you really wish you were more selfish and kept him around as long as you could. He'd become like an arm to you, and you were hard pressed to picture a life without him. You loved him and you were positive he loved you back. You might have resented him when you first got him, but everyone's mind changes.

 

You really wish you could change your own.

 

He's put down before he's ridden down with pain, and you don't hold onto his ashes. Rather, you spread them over a particular park where he stopped you from fatally injuring yourself yet again. You don't cry, you realize that life is like this. It makes your brain hurt and your heart ache and what's the point in living without a little pain?

 

You don't even reject the new dog your mother gets you four months after Pepper dies. You warm to her and realize that she can't replace your first new set of eyes, but that you can love her just as much.

 

Soon enough, Nepeta graduates from college as well, and your health insurance and your law office pays for her to be your permanent aide, Vriska and Tavros begin dating not long after she pledges her soul to Equius and years later, they become engaged.

 

Taking everything that's happened in your life so far, you guess that things sometimes really _do_ work out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess it really IS rated M for Murder


	12. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 12

**More Heart than Brains: 12**

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're a sad son-of-a-bitch. After fighting with Terezi, you'd stormed out of the hospital and nearly ran into the first cab you saw. Once you'd made it to your apartment, you'd appraised your face in the mirror and rubbed your hands over it, smoothing the heavy lines permanently pressed into your skin. You stare at yourself as you try to relax your frown and it's strange to think that the first thing everyone sees on you is your heavy expression. Maybe that's why people didn't like to talk to you at first.

 

Maybe you preferred it that way.

 

You shuffle over to your couch and lay down on it, your face pressing uncomfortably into the thick purple fabric. You count the seconds until you have to turn your face to breathe and you manage to deprive yourself of oxygen for a solid 30 seconds before your heartbeat got too loud in your head. You stare blankly at your television before pulling a big sigh and closing your eyes.

 

You think about Kanaya.

 

It's like this every time you visit Gamzee. You go there, and he never speaks a word about her, never utters anything derogatory or acknowledges the fact that she was _real_. You take a deep breath and hold it, your thoughts bouncing painfully around in your head. It's hard for you to conjure up images of your sweeter memories with her, or to fully lose yourself in what sleeping at her house was like, being called darling and sweetheart by her family. The memories your mind never fails to bring up always are all the times you'd fought with her, all the times she'd yelled at you, all the times you'd shouted that you'd never wanted to see her again.

 

You release your breath and press your eyes painfully into your skull with your thumbs. You don't cry, you're fucking _cried out_ about Kanaya. You flip yourself over on your couch and shrug yourself out of your jacket. It lands on the floor with a muffled _fwump_. You stare at the ceiling until it doesn't look like a ceiling any more, until it looks like your eyes are playing tricks on your mind.

 

You want a drink and you get up and grab a bottle of something the color of tea. You lie back down and just hold it, not opening it. You muse that you probably look more than a little pathetic, clutching a bottle like a toy. You squeeze your eyes shut again and try not to think of how much it hurt to stop drinking. You clutch the glass bottle a little tighter and your head pulses with the memories of the shakes and the vomiting and the twisting headaches.

 

You sit up and twist the bottle open. A deep breath pulls itself from your body and you take a swig, the familiar burn making your whole body hurt. You take another one before capping it and placing it on the ground. You lie back down and think about the way your hands itch to grab the bottle and how your stomach clenches at the prospect of more of the vitriolic liquid.

 

If you're being frank with yourself, you've got a pretty weak will when it comes to the long term.

 

Kanaya had asked you to stop and you _had;_ for years, at least. You'd managed to convince yourself you were better and really, you _were_. Relapses were short lived and you'd always made sure to never over do it. You haven't been black out drunk since you were 20, and your brain aches for the quiet you got during those times. You know it was bad for you and you might have shaved years off your life, but you hadn't cared. You do _now_ , maybe a bit more.

 

A pretty accurate description for your life for the past 7 years has been that you don't want to _die_ you want to do _better_. You've thought it numerous times, and at this point, to you, dying seems like the easy way out. You're not afraid of death, but you're not going to hurl yourself at it. You're not the ridiculous kid you used to be; now you're a ridiculous _adult_. You like to think it's a bit different.

 

You pass the time by numbing yourself with the bottle, proofing yourself against the hard memories that you don't want to conjure up. You take a shot and remember the sweet smell of Kanaya's perfume, block out the oily scent of her blood. You pull out your fondest memories of being with her and being _happy_ , and avoid the screaming fits you'd gotten into her with about Gamzee, your brother, too many girls, _everything_.

 

After a third of the bottle is gone and so are _you_ , you think about Terezi.

 

God, she makes you angry. You get up and put the bottle away, mentally kicking yourself because you definitely overdid it and John's trial resumes tomorrow. You stand in front of your sink and grip it a little for support. You reach over and grab a mug from your cabinet and fill it with water then promptly drain it about 4 times before you feel too full. You go to lay back down on your couch with your arm over your eyes and try to sleep; sleep always comes to you better when your thoughts are muffled and your heartbeat isn't too loud.

 

Instead, your mind seems incessant on making you think about the blind prosecutor. She makes you mad in the most wonderful ways, and even in your moderately inebriated state, you are certain that the conclusion you had come to the night before is an accurate one. You don't want to be in love, you don't deserve to be in love. Especially with someone like her.

 

You groan aloud as your mind whirs around too fast and it makes you feel sick. You really fucked that up, why did you have to fight with her like that? You can't really blame her for acting that way about Gamzee; you _know_ he's sick, you've known it for almost 15 years. Two decades with him, and most of it has been spent in equal parts screaming at him and caring for him. It's so rough on you and your family and your friends and it's _not healthy_ , but you've fucked enough things up to know you can't just _give up_ on someone. You can't blame Terezi but you _want_ to blame Terezi.

 

You can't even govern your own life properly, sometimes you wonder why the fuck you ever thought you could help other people.

 

Your arm goes dead after a while so you flip over and lie on your side, the pins and needles radiating over your hand and up your arm. Your eyes are closed and you try to not think, and it proves relatively simple to accomplish given the current low functioning ability of your brain. You fall asleep with ease, mostly. Your dreams are short and a little choppy, but the old memories of a life with your friend are mixed with fragmented clips of a girl with shark teeth and a burning gaze. Fond, nonsense reels play that lace your dreams with the scent of Gamzee's smoke and better times. Little splices of polished red plastic pop up every now and then, just often enough to tell you that her disgusting mannerisms are what you love. Her hoarse cackles and singing laughs are mixed with Gamzee's hacks and coughs, Sollux's spits and wheezing hisses, Kanaya's laugh that sounded like birdsong. You even remember the bubbly laughs of princesses to thrones built on the misfortune of others and the whistling chuckles of princes who you'd never think of fondly in a concious state.

 

Your truly sweet dreams are brought to an end soon enough, though, as sharp raps are drummed into your ears. Your eyes open and they feel heavy, but they're not as clouded as they were before. The beats on your wooden door reverberate through your skull and you hear a concerned, angry voice shouting at you to answer your fucking door.

 

You sit up and rub at your eyes, waking up enough to scream at the reverberations of the beats to shut the fuck up.

 

They stop, and you get up, your feet a little unsteady and your eyes making the scene before you appear a little rushed. You try to peer through your peep-hole but you never bothered to clean it so all you see is an auburn blur and dirt.

 

You know it's Terezi, and you're _afraid_ of what you'll say if you open the door. The angry words you'd shot at each other still sting a little, and the memory of how much you'd wanted to hurt her in that moment rushes up and makes your tongue feel thick.

 

You open the door anyway and she looks angry.

 

 

Her glasses are over her eyes, and her dog is wagging her tail by her master's feet. Terezi's gripping her cane in both hands, looking ready to swing it at you as soon as she manages to deduce the location of your skull. She's frowning and her eyebrows are pulled down tightly, her glower managing to pierce you even through her red lenses.

 

You take a deep breath and then expel it and you want to feel as angry with her as your mind is telling you to be, but your body must not be up to responding properly at the moment.

 

She probably catches a whiff of your breath though, as her nose wrinkles up in quite the display of “ew.”

 

You're spared having to say anything because she promptly jams the head of her cane into your sternum, pushing you back into your apartment. You stumble back and she tells her dog to go and lie on your couch, and the fucking animal actually does it. She takes her glasses off and steps closer to you and you never thought you'd feel genuinely afraid of someone about to beat you senseless.

 

However, she doesn't. When she gets close enough to you, she takes a deep breath in through her nose, makes a face, then pulls an open-mouthed frown with her tongue sticking out.

 

“You smell _terrible_ ,” she comments, her tone smooth and her cane pressing hard into your ribs.

 

You swallow and you find it a little hard to form words, your tongue too heavy and your heart too close to your throat for you to produce adequate sound. She spares you from responding to her insulting observation by jabbing you with her cane so hard you're sure there's going to be a bruise there.

 

“Are you drunk?” she asks, an eyebrow raising at you. You clear your throat and nod. Then you remember her eyes are just for show, and you say yes.

 

She asks why, still sounding angry but a bit softer now, her rage with you seeming to lessen.

 

You run a hand down your face and just shrug. “How the fuck did you get here?” you ask, your mind whirring as to how she could have gotten herself to your home.

 

“I walked,” she snaps, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Then she makes a show of rolling her eyes and gives you an actual fucking reply. “I told Vriska where you lived and she drove me.”

 

You groan. “Now she knows where I live!”

 

Terezi snorts at your apparent discontent with her unhinged friend knowing your location. “Don't think too highly of yourself, I doubt she even gives a fuck about you.”

 

You're easy to rile up, even at this point, where your blood has a proof level instead of a blood alcohol content. “Well, why the _fuck_ did you decide to just pop over!?” you yell, your foot slamming down like a petulant child. “Fuck, I don't even know what time it is but it has to be late.”

 

Terezi's grinning at you, and it bleeds of evil and amusement. “It's a bit past 11, actually.”

 

“Don't you need to sleep? You woke me from mine.”

 

“Should you be drinking tonight of all nights? Can't you control your outrageous emotions enough to _at least_ put up a front of you giving a fuck about what happens to John?”

 

You're angry and tired and it had been exactly 10 days since you'd had a drink, and around 2 years since you were as drunk as you are now. Weeks ago, when you'd first really gone out with Terezi, you'd _tried_ to waste yourself, but it was difficult. Each drink made you remember what it had been like and made you want to just forget. You were close to where you are now, but your current mental clarity is much lower than it had been the night you'd exchanged words about your brain damaged friends.

 

You close your eyes and rub them, groaning at the feeling of having hands that are too light. Your words aren't as loud or angry as you'd like them to be, but you manage to say them without tripping over your teeth. “Why are you _here_ , Terezi?”

 

She shrugs, turning to face a little away from you. “I figured you might want to apologize for fighting with me earlier.”

 

“And why would _I_ want to apologize to _you_?”

 

“Because you were rude and what you said was completely uncalled for.”

 

It's hard to give her your full attention, but you manage a relatively smart reply. “You're going to be _dis-a-pointed_ because I'm still rude.”

 

She makes a noise in the back of her throat and narrows her eyes at you. She leans in and sniffs you again, your reflexes too dulled for you to react until after she's left your personal space. “Why are you drunk?” she asks, her voice and face taking on inquisitive hints. She grins perhaps a bit too evilly for her suddenly playful tone. “Don't tell me you were that broken up about me making fun of your terrible friend.”

 

You consider just telling her to leave, but you've cooled down and perhaps maybe crave her attention, whatever form she feels like giving you now. Hours ago you'd hated her and wanted nothing more than for her to wander into traffic, and now you find yourself unable to force her out. You consider lying to her and telling her you just needed a fucking drink, which you _didn't._ You _wanted_ one, and the difference is very important to you.

 

You swallow, your throat feeling too dry, and tell her that visiting Gamzee can do this to you.

 

She doesn't speak for a moment before sighing and rolling her shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Yes. “No.”

 

“Really? What if I want to know?”

 

She really doesn't. “You'll tell me I'm overreacting.”

 

She grins. “Well, knowing you, you probably are.”

 

You're disappointing Kanaya. “I'm too drunk for this.”

 

She grabs you by the hand and it feels cool to the touch. “Well I don't have a ride home because Vriska left and Nepeta is with Equius, who's, like, three hours from here.” She tugs on you a little and you sigh, let _her_ lead _you_ to your couch.

 

She manages to only bang her leg on your couch once before sitting down and pulling her legs into a pretzel. Her dog adjusts itself and rests its head on Terezi's leg, watery eyes peering up at you. You sit down heavily, your couch cushions releasing a puff of air with a whooshing sound.

 

She's looking at a space a little to the left of you with great expectancy, a jagged grin breaking her face up.

 

“What do you expect me to say?” you ask, your head hurting a little as it tries to find a place to start; if there _is_ a place to start.

 

Her grin shrinks unto a smile, soft and very unlike Terezi. “Why'd you feel the need to get hammered tonight?”

 

You take a deep breath and lean your head back on the sofa. You notice a small stain on your ceiling and it occupies your attention for a bit before you remember Terezi asked you a question. “A lot of stuff, I guess. Fuck, you think your childhood was fucked up? I wasn't always this _sparkling_.”

 

She scoots closer to you, her hand resting on your thigh. “Haven't we already talked about our tragic back stories? Are there any fresh grievances you need to air?”

 

“I always have grievances to air, but I feel gross about not telling you everything, I guess,” you reply, shrugging. Your heart is beating too fast and your brain is shouting at it to calm down. About half of the fibers of your being are saying that telling her might be a good idea, seven years might be enough time for you to finally talk about it. The other half is saying that talking about it might hurt too much; no, it _will_ hurt too much.

 

Sadly, you come to the conclusion that you actually want to talk about it to her. In this state, it's not hard to think that you love her and want her to know everything about you so that maybe she'll love you back. Or maybe she'll leave, deciding that you're too much trouble. Either option is preferable to avoiding her questions about your life after your father passed away and before you finished college.

 

Your throat is thick, but you manage to press words out. You tell her that you actually have friends aside from Sollux and Gamzee.

 

She lets out a relieved sigh. “Well, that's _good_. Why don't you ever talk about them?”

 

It's hard to speak, even to her. It was hard telling Kankri what happened. It was hard to listen to Gamzee _not_ say anything, just that he was happy to see you, bro. It was hard to endure the pitying way Sollux had looked at you and it was hard to apologize to him after you'd screamed at him to just _stop_.

 

“Well,” you start, mind churning too slowly. She's quiet and you peak at her to see her fixed and at attention. You take a deep breath and begin in earnest. “When I moved in with my brother after my father died, I met a girl at the school I went to. She was tall and she _cared_ about me, Tez. She was like my mother but she was my best friend, I was even closer to her than I am to Sollux or Gamzee.”

 

You pause and you hear her clear her throat. “You keep saying she _was_ ,” she states, her voice small and just a little crackly.

 

Her shoulder is pressed against yours, so you just give her a shrug and hope she'll take it. She does, and you feel her hand tighten on your thigh a bit.

 

You continue, and it's not as hard as you thought it would be. Had you been sober, perhaps you'd have had the willpower to just tell her to get away from you. But if you had willpower, you'd probably be sober, so it's a moot point. “So, my life went on as such. When I was sixteen, Gamzee attacked me. I told you about that this morning. Did I?”

 

She nods in the affirmative, and her features are twisted a little in an ugly display of hate for Gamzee. You've seen numerous people wear her expression before, but none had managed to unsettle you as much as hers currently did.

 

You bring a hand to her face and pat her a little limply, your hands feeling unnaturally thick and swollen, and maybe a little numb. Her face softens a bit but she comments that Gamzee's poisonous.

 

You say you know.

 

She doesn't answer so you just speak, let the words come out and it's strangely addictive, talking to her. “Well, it was about a year after that that I started drinking. First, I had some because Kankri's room mates let me have some so long as I never told my brother. I _liked_ to drink; it was really fun and it was great to just not think and be able to sleep normally for once. It really just got worse and worse, and when I got into college I might have taken it a bit too far.”

 

You wait for a reaction with her, but her expression doesn't change, so you lean your head back again and close your eyes. “Some parts are blurs and others are a little too sharp. I took a lot of things too fast, and I slept with a _lot_ of people. That's why I was really nervous a few days ago because I _really_ don't want to fuck it up _again_. It was nice to take things slow for a change; I mean I've had sex plenty of times but I've never really made _love_ , you get it? Fuck, I sound like a moron, don't I? Shit, just forget I said anything--”

 

Terezi cuts off what was probably going to devolve into a full-on ramble with pit stops to refuel on self-loathing with her hand, which she places firmly on your shoulder. She then relocates it to your face, her fingers covering your left eye. She leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips then leaves, sitting with her legs on yours. She tells you to continue about what you wanted to tell her.

 

You're blushing like a fool, your face practically burning. It was too warm already and her simple, soft gesture was so different from most dealings you've had with her, it left you caught off guard and rosy. You don't do anything, so she takes your hand in hers and starts playing with your fingers again, your stubby fingers getting pulled at by her long, thin ones.

 

You do as she asks, and continue. “By the time I was 20, I was basically a high-functioning alcoholic. I could go to classes and interact with others but I _needed_ a drink. If I didn't get one, my hands would shake and then the rest of my muscles would twitch until I had another drink. Kanaya kept asking me to stop, but I never did, not—when she knew me.”

 

You take a deep breath and try to focus on her still moving your fingers for a moment. “So, in college, I also met these two kids who were going to school and were housed in my dorm. I became friends with them and one of them, Feferi Peixes--” you're going to finish your sentence, but Terezi cuts you off.

 

She jumps a little and her dancing fingers stop, a short laugh ripping from her throat. _“Peixes?”_

 

“What?”

 

She looks amused, but shakes her head at you, a sick grin cutting her lips apart. “I knew a girl with the last name Peixes. She had a voice that sounded like it used to be high but years of screaming and probably more than a few cases of tonsillitis made it rough. She lived in a huge house by herself and was a developing con artist. She was friends with the Serkets, Vriska's family, and was the one that gave us the fireworks that we blew ourselves up with.”

 

You can almost feel the cogs in your brain turning, and your pupils resize twice out of concentration before you manage to spit out-- “What are you saying?”

 

She makes a show of rolling her eyes again and she drags a hand up your chest to your face and pats it. “Don't worry your pretty little head over it. I bet it's a common last name.”

 

You try to remember back to Feferi, heiress to an empire of garbage and misery, and what she'd told you of her family. “Feferi had a sister. I think she said she lived by herself because she couldn't stand to be like her mother.”

 

Terezi grins. “Sounds like Meenah,” she says very quietly, almost to herself. “We can talk about it later, Karkat. Tell me about Kanaya.”

 

You flinch a little when you hear her say her name. It's been pretty much years since you'd heard it, and it surprises you that it has mass outside of your own mind. To hear a word said gives it so much more depth than the shadow of voice your mind manages to produce.

 

“She was... wonderful. Every one of my friends loved her. Except Gamzee. She tried, I know she did, but she was so worried about me. And I guess it was for good reason. Shit, even _—Eridan_ liked Kanaya.” You had to force his name out, almost forgetting how to form the letters with your mouth, years of disuse taking away your ability to say his name on demand. You like to think you prefer it this way, but you know you don't. You also know that water is wet, and taking away the meaning of his name doesn't take away the misplaced rage you hold.

 

“Who's Eridan?” Terezi asks, her hands tugging on yours again.

 

“A douche bag who likes to swim and was in love with Feferi,” you offer, your eyes looking at her legs piled on yours. “He killed Kanaya.”

 

Terezi's silent for a full minute. At least, you think it's a minute; you try to count, but find it hard to focus and manage the numbers. Once, she opens her mouth like she wants to say something, her plastic eyes staring at you with a hard intensity. She closes it soon after and when she opens it again a few moments later, she manages to say something.

 

“What happened?” she asks, and she seems unhappy with the inadequacy of the question. She takes a small breath and immediately puffs it back out at you. “Shit, are you sure you want to tell me?”

 

You shrug a little and she lightly tugs on your fingers again. “I dunno, Tez. I guess so. It's actually been years since I said their _names_ , let alone really talking about what happened.”

 

She grins a little, slight and devious. “Well, I'm afraid I don't really have any other childhood stories to entice you with. For once, I guess I'll just leave this up to you.”

 

You snort. “For once?”

 

She gives a small shrug and her grin broadens, makes her eyes squint a little. “If I really wanted you to tell me, you _would_.”

 

You're not in the mood to contend with her right now. Nor are you in the right state of mind to pull apart and unravel her riddles disguised as sentences. “Shit, alright, whatever, you deserve to know, I guess, after putting up with my shit so far.”

 

“You're not so hard to put up with,” Terezi states nonchalantly. “When you're not being an insufferable _shit head_ that is.”

 

You grumble a little and ignore her. “Do you want to know or not? You probably wont find me in such a _forth-com-ing_ mood again.”

 

“Yes, just tell me. I want to know more about you.”

 

It sounded like she might have just been placating you, but you continue, one part in spite and the other out of an addiction to just _telling_ her things. Maybe just talking about it will lesson the burden of failure you've shouldered for too long.

 

“So... _Eridan_. He agreed to go with Feferi on one of her stunts. She was really sheltered as a kid, they went to boarding school together, so she was always trying to get what she thought most kids did when they were young. Whatever. Eridan talked me into going and Feferi asked me to bring Sollux. I think they had a thing. No, I'm positive they had a thing. Or they _would_ have had a thing.

 

“Anyway. I asked Kanaya to come along. I can't really... _describe_ why I asked her. She's my best friend and any time I spent with her was good time. Plus, Eridan got along with her and it made him less unhappy when he was talking to her while Feferi and Sollux were out ruining his friendship. Or at least I guess that's what he thought, _I_ haven't thought about Eridan's love life for about 7 years.”

 

You swallow and pause, wait for her to nod at you to continue. You do.

 

“So, we all brought these bullshit weapons because we were playing along for Feferi and it _mattered_ to me that she was happy, sappy as fuck as that sounds. She was my only friend aside from Kanaya who wasn't severely emotionally unhinged, and it was refreshing to see someone who enjoyed life so fully. We were breaking into a string of abandoned warehouses along the shore, and Eridan tripped and almost fell into the ocean. He dropped his shit and Kanaya gave him her crowbar so he didn't complain about being without “protection.””

 

You take a deep breath, the words a little harder than you thought to articulate. “Well, later when we were leaving, he tripped again and he chucked the crow bar and it was such a _freak thing_ to happen, that of course it _had_ to happen. It flew past Kanaya and cut open the side of her neck, her jugular sliced.” Your eyes close and the memory replays itself. Kanaya's wide green eyes. Her shiny red blood, covering her hands, her jacket, _you_ , everything. The minutes of you muttering reassurance to her to only have her die right there.

 

You almost killing Eridan.

 

Terezi doesn't say anything, and you _want_ her to so badly. You need something to fill the fuzzy silence, and for her to say anything, tell you _something_ would be preferable to just sitting there, stewing in your own memories.

 

“Did she bleed out?” Terezi asks eventually. Her voice is too small for her personality and you don't _want her pity_.

 

“Please don't talk to me like that, please just _don't_ sound like that,” you beg, voice a strange urgent mumble. _God_ , you sound pathetic, like a kid who really doesn't know why they're complaining but needs to voice some sort of dissatisfaction.

 

She places a hand on your cheek and promptly takes it away. She brings it back and your reflexes are too dull for you to react before she slaps you.

 

You reel back and blink rapidly, the pain in your face not registering with you. It just feels a bit tingly and she's _grinning_ at you.

 

You shout at her, what the fuck was that for?!

 

She tells you to snap out of it.

 

“Snap out of _what_?” you ask, incredulous with your face stinging dully.

 

“You're feeling sorry for yourself, and I know you don't like to feel sorry for yourself!” Terezi states, her tone brisk. She doesn't get off of you, but she leans away and her grin is hard with no happiness.

 

“Fuck you, I'm not feeling sorry for myself! I have a very valid reason to be unhappy,” you rebuke, your temper flaring brightly. It quickly becomes dampened and you calm back down, your hands running down your face. “Shit, I feel fuckin' weird.”

 

“It was wrong of you to drink,” Terezi states. She looks stern and unhappy, but she sounds compassionate. It's hard to imagine that _she_ could be compassionate, but is she really as terrible as she presents herself? You've seen first hand that she's so much more past smart smiles with stinging words and sharp elbows that make ugly scars.

 

Your words are short and protected. “What does that mean?”

 

She licks her lips and it makes a wet popping noise and you get a feeling that she's disappointed in you. You can't really blame her; you must _really_ seem a mess right now.

 

“I mean that if you're an alcoholic, _why_ would you take me somewhere to drink? _Why_ would you only call _those_ times dates? _Why_ would you come back here and risk a relapse?” She looks hard and hurt, her plastic eyes shiny and intimidating.

 

You recognise the voice she uses on you. It's her Court Voice; very clinical and detached, yet able to pull emotions from you. It manages to convey compassion and it confuses you, your fuzzed brain struggling to find the meaning behind her words.

 

Instead, you just blurt out, “I don't _need_ to drink, I _like_ to.”

 

She barks a short laugh at you and it fucking _hurts_. “Is there a difference?”

 

Your emotions are all pooled together in this strange form. You don't know what you feel and it's extremely confusing, your intestines are clutching each other again and your brain hurts. Your heart is beating too fast and your face feels flushed, a hard blush is probably spread across your face.

 

You assert that there is indeed a difference and she looks like she rolls her eyes, but you're not sure because the room is spinning and your head feels light. Your stomach is probably being strangled by your large intestine and this is what you rememner getting a perforated organ feels like and the bottoms of your lungs ache and then it feels like your stomach turns itself _inside out_.

 

You push yourself up too fast and you stumble as Terezi falls to the floor. She lets out a curse and you fumble as you trip over her in your effort to drag yourself to your bathroom before you vomit all over your carpet. You shove the door to the cramped space open and fling yourself at the bowl, managing to pull the lid up and firmly wedge your head in the mouth before your stomach clenches again and your gut unloads everything you've ingested today.

 

It's a sick kind of hollow retching that makes you sweaty and your head hurt. Your convulsions cease after what's probably about 30 or 40 seconds but it feels like hours that you're wishing the pulsing in your temples didn't hurt so much, or that your heart wasn't beating so loudly. You pry your face from the mouth of the toilet and press your forehead against the cool side, sweat making you feel sticky.

 

You hear Terezi enter and you crack an eye to see she's sat down in front of you.

 

Your eye closes. “Please go away,” you mutter, throat too burned from stomach acid to have the depth you wish it had.

 

“You'll have a harder time than that, getting rid of me,” she states, sitting cross-legged. You groan at her that you mean it and she says that she does too.

 

“Do you enjoy invading my personal space like this?” you ask. You gently lift your head from the lip of the bowl and press it to a different, cooler part.

 

“You're more charming than you first appear to be,” she confesses frankly and you feel her hands grope a little for your head before she smooths your sweaty hair back. You remember all the times Kanaya had done the same, simple movement and you sigh. You don't feel really very ill any more, but you don't feel good.

 

“Alert the fucking presses, apparently I'm an acceptable human being.”

 

“Now, I wouldn't go _that_ far.”

 

You're both silent while her hand is just awkwardly patting your head for a few moments before you ask her what she wants.

 

Instead of answering, she asks you if you want a drink. _Of water_ , she clarifies.

 

You swallow and it stings something fierce, so you say yes.

 

She gets up, and you think you hear her break something in your kitchen. You don't really care about the state of your glassware at the moment, and soon she's back by you, water sloshing out of the mug in her hands. She holds it out to you and she's a little too far to your left to really be trying to give it to _you_ , but you take it without comment.

 

 

It tastes tinny and maybe a little chalky, but it's cold enough that it wakes you up a little. You inhale and exhale a few times before clearing your throat and asking her how she's going to get home.

 

“I don't think I should leave you by yourself, you might choke on your own vomit in your sleep,” she states simply, her arms around her thin legs.

 

You're too dumb right now to keep up with her train of thinking, so you ask, “Where are you going to sleep?”

 

She snorts, a sharp, dangerous grin breaking her face open. “With _you_ , Einstein.” She stands and pulls you up with her, and you're a little shaky on your feet.

 

She's tugging you out into the hallway, one of her hands feeling along your walls when you stop the both of you.

 

She asks what's wrong and you're looking her for a moment too long, and her red implants are glistening in the dim light. It strikes you that she relies on those around her to assure her that they're really red, and not just telling her to placate her.

 

“I don't want to have sex,” you blurt out, your voice louder than you had anticipated.

 

She looks serious when she replies. “Neither do I, Karkat.”

 

You nod at her and you feel perhaps a bit safer than you had before. You weren't worried that you had been in danger, but maybe that she had expected something of you. The simple exchange had warmed you to her even more, and made her seem considerably _human_.

 

You allow her feel her way to your room and she gently opens and closes the door, her dog worming her way in in the few moments the door is open.

 

You stand there and watch as she takes off her pants and sits cross-legged on your bed. She waits a few moments before making a show of being exasperated with you, gets up, and grabs your hand to tug you onto the bed.

 

You keeps your eyes down, your face too warm and your fingers too thick again. You remember last night when you'd been with her, and it feels like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was easier to be together earlier, you hadn't known as much about each other. Would she feel differently about you now that she knows how you really are? When you'd found out about what had happened to her, you hadn't been too much changed. If anything, you were more capable of seeing her as a human being and not a woman who had forced her way into your life.

 

Would she consider you _too_ human, now?

 

“Unless you want to sleep in your presumably khaki pants, I _suggest_ you get comfortable,” Terezi says, punctuating the sentence with a slap to your leg.

 

You find her words understandable, and you get up and remove your sweater and pants. You sit back down next to her, and you're in your undershirt and boxers.

 

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” you ask, tongue heavy and sentence dumb.

 

She shrugs. “What's there to talk about?” Suddenly, she seems a little frightened, or maybe unsure? “Do you regret it?”

 

You contemplate what she asked so that you can give an answer you firmly believe. “No, not really at all. It was nice. I--” you bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from talking too much.

 

She smiles now, and it makes your pupils resize and your heart swell too large. You're sure you love her more with each chip that breaks away to show how human she can get. Your heart pushes against your ribcage and your blood sings that she's all you've ever waited for and you're sure that you could spend the rest of eternity with her, even through your mutual disapproval of each other.

 

“I really liked it too,” she states frankly, her voice lowered and hushed. Then, her grin breaks out a little and she tacks on, “You're very good at it, if that makes you feel any better.”

 

You can't handle that so you fall backwards onto your sheets. Your eyes throb a little and she crawls in next to you, tentatively placing her hands on your biceps. You shift to accommodate her, and she holds you readily, you finding yourself cradled easily in her neck. Your eyes drift shut as you listen to her talk.

 

“I came here to chew you out about how much of a raging douche bag you were being earlier, you know,” she confesses as her fingers card through your tangled hair. “I was so angry I just told Vriska to leave me here.”

 

You grip her a little tighter, and she squeezes back. Your muscles shake as they relax and you remember how you'd found yourself in this position with Kanaya so many times. You give a shaky sigh into her skin and you press a kiss there, _God_ , you'd missed feeling like this.

 

“You know, I used to date Vriska,” Terezi states matter-of-factly. Your mind is fuzzy with exhaustion and liquor, but you manage to pull up a start of surprise at her statement.

 

“Yeah,” she barks out along with a laugh. “I used to be in love her. When we were 16 and I was going to college, we were planning out how we were going to get married. She was my best friend, someone to hate and someone to love, all wrapped up in a single person. She was all I could have asked for. We've been through so much together, it felt like hardly anything could have torn us apart. I literally could not imagine being without her.

 

“Then, I went to college. We just grew apart and I found myself almost sick with her. She was such a... _different_ person than when we were kids. Or maybe I was different. It doesn't matter, though, I ended it when we were 18 and I don't regret that. I don't regret falling in love with her, either. She was my best friend and I feel like it doesn't matter that we were girls. We never thought we'd have to be apart, and when we were, it was like we discovered that we could have loved each other had perhaps I been someone who wasn't plagued by a conscience, or if she were maybe more leaning towards merciful.”

 

She's silent and you detach yourself from her warm skin to ask her what the moral of the story was.

 

She gives a shrug. “You needed to know, I guess. She was such a huge part of my life, and I guess you _deserve_ to know too. I really like you a lot and want to keep you in my life, and I think I can do that. One thing I wish I'd done with Vriska more was fight. We tried to hurt each other plenty of times before we had our accident, but then afterwards we just sort of... placated each other. I never wanted to kill her the way I wanted to kill you. I did what I needed to when I cut her off myself, but had I any other choice, I would not have. Vriska wouldn't allow any other choice.”

 

She swallows before continuing. “I think that's why we can last. I'm not afraid to fight you, and I just feel... different with you. You're different than Vriska. You're more easy to show myself too. Maybe that's because I just met you. I felt like I had a show to keep up with her, a mold to press myself into. I even thought I had one with you! But, you proved me wrong, and I just—I think that you wont let me press myself into a shape for you. You'll take me as I am. And I'll take you as you are. You may think you're damaged goods, but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who isn't.”

 

You want to reply to her, but your head is heavy and it's too warm. She gives you a shake and you squirm around to get her settle back again and she spits out a laugh.

 

“You're like a fucking kid, Karkat!”

 

You make a mumbling noise into her neck and she just laughs back.

 

You're both silent and listen to the other's breathing for a few more minutes, or maybe it's even an hour; it doesn't matter. You eventually pull yourself up an inch to confess that you're sorry for Gamzee.

 

“ _You_ don't have to be sorry for _him_. But I'll accept your apology for insulting Aradia.”

 

You nod, not feeling like arguing right now. This is probably one of the first times in your life that you don't want to argue.

 

It feels nice.

 

–

 

You had fallen asleep easily, almost without having to think about it. However, waking up is a less-than-pleasant affair.

 

You're sweaty. It's too hot and Terezi feels as if she is welded to you and you scramble away from her at the first few signs of conciousness that you have.

 

You roughly detach yourself from her and almost fall off your bed. She starts awake at your jerky motions and seems almost confused about what's going on.

 

“Karkat are you okay?” she asks, sitting up and jamming the heels of her hands into her implants.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Terezi, was it really okay to come over here?” you ask, getting off your bed and nervously tugging on the edge of your shirt.

 

“What are you talking about?” she asks, her face twisted into an expression of befuddlement.

 

“You shouldn't be here,” you express to her as you pace around the bed, scanning the area for your pants.

 

The night before is somewhat of a blur. You remember drinking, and you remember fighting with Terezi, both before and after you had tried to hammer yourself into a bottle. You remember throwing up and you remember how genuine she had seemed the night before.

 

“Karkat are you feeling alright?” She seems genuinely concerned about you and she moves towards you. Her dog is awake and staring at you from the bottom of the foot of the bed.

 

You step away from the edge of the bed, where she has come to sit. “Don't—touch me.”

 

She gets angry. “What the fuck is wrong with you Karkat?” She stands up and puts an arm out in front of her to gauge her position.

 

Her hand hits your shoulder and you fucking lose it.

 

You scream at her that she had no right to just come over and barge in. You were perfectly content to waste yourself, and who was she to think that she could stay there and try to convince you that you were wrong? You had your problem very well under control and it's none of her business what you do after you see your friends!

 

Her reaction is expected.

 

You will not lie to yourself. You are _afraid_ of Terezi. You think that she is capable of causing you grievous bodily harm, and also you _know_ that you are incapable of perhaps stopping her. Maybe she'll end up killing you and doing you a favor.

 

“Not everything is about _you_ , Karkat! Maybe if you got your head out of your ass for more than long enough to wreck yourself, you'd realise that there's no point in trying to kill yourself this way! I mean, I came over because I was so angry at you that I just wanted to make you feel terrible. Well, it looks like you did that just well enough by yourself! I know it's probably hard for you to say, but you've got a serious problem, and excuse me for actually giving a shit about what fucking happens to you!”

 

She's breathing hard and you're both moved and angry. Angry at her for caring and moved because she cared. Angry at yourself for finding some pleasure in the fact that she cares enough to face your problems and call you out on them.

 

“It's just hard for me to get into relationships okay? I'm terrible with them, and I just can't give up on them like I can give up on myself! I either fall right in love or push the other person away. I loved K-- _Kanaya_ so much and I can barely talk about her _drunk_. I mean _shit_ , Tez, I fucking _love_ you and look at how bad I'm fucking _that_ up!” The words are out of your mouth before you can think to stop them. You press your lips shut and wish you could just breathe the words back in and swallow them before she hears them.

 

 

But she does. She stands up straighter and her mouth opens and closes twice before she states that she should go home and prepare for trial this afternoon. She grabs her pants, puts them on and calls her dog over. Soon enough, she's left your apartment and you're just standing there in your underwear and socks wishing you _hadn't_ _fucking_ _said_ anything.

 

You stand there for a while, just marinating in how much of a moron you've been this time. You eventually work up the will to move and call Sollux to lament how much of an idiot you've been.

 

“Well, you've really fucked this one up, haven't you?” Sollux's rasping lisp spits from the speaker of your phone.

 

“Tell me something I don't know,” you mumble, both hands gripping the phone like a child does.

 

“I thought you were getting better,” Sollux states, tone frank.

 

You sigh, and when you're honest with yourself, you _know_ you were never really better; hell, you'll probably never be better, just dealing with it. “Me too.”

 

“I miss Kanaya too, Karkat,” Sollux says quietly and you're both silent. You don't want to speak and so he offers, “Do you want me to do anything?”

 

You swallow and ask him to take you to court in a few hours.

 

He says sure, and that he'll be over in about an hour to talk to you. You don't say goodbye and just hang up on him. You stand there again for about 10 minutes, just staring at your phone before you put it down and walk into your bathroom. You flush the toilet from the night before, and climb into the shower with your clothing on.

 

Then you _remember_ your clothing is on and you're peeling wet socks from your feet and the saturated article of clothing pretty much is the perfect description of how you feel right now. You ball the clothing into a pile and throw it into the sink where it lands with a wet _thump_. You'll deal with it later.

 

You don't even really clean yourself. You stand there and nearly get second degree burns and scrapes from trying to scrub Terezi off of your skin. If you can manage that, then you can work on trying to eradicate her from your mind 24/7.

 

When you climb out of the shower, Sollux is already inside your apartment. He's under your counters and inside your cabinets, pulling out bottles and pouring them down the sink. You ignore him and walk into your room to put on clothing, and _then_ you walk out to confront him.

 

“You know, I can always just buy more,” you state as you sit down to watch him.

 

He doesn't miss a beat as he continues pouring out bottles of ancient liquid. “It makes me feel better, shitdick, so shut the fuck up.” He straightens up and comes to sit next to you, staring at you over his glasses. His one dark eye and one bright, electric blue make you strikingly uncomfortable, so you look away and ask him to push his glasses up.

 

He does, and then he asks, “So, tell me, KK. Did you mean it?”

 

You think you know what he's talking about, but you want to be obstinate. “Mean what, asshole?”

 

He snorts. “Mean it when you told her that you _love_ her. People take that shit seriously.”

 

You contemplate his words and your answer for a bit. Then, “Yeah, I mean it. Fucking yes, I mean it.”

 

He leans back and stretches languidly before yawning. “I knew you were gonna throw yourself at this one.”

 

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

He leans towards you over the table, his glasses casting red and blue lights onto his cheeks. “It means that you practically _toss_ yourself into relationships you don't want with others. I mean, isn't that why you're still friends with Gamzee?”

 

Your answer is immediate, bordering on robotic. “I'm friends with Gamzee because I care about him, fucktard.”

 

“Yeah, but, KK, the thing is, that sociopath hasn't had a genuine emotion in about 15 years, and probably wont for the rest of his life.”

 

You say, “Can we not right now, Sollux?” but you just want to say something about how you genuinely believe him to be wrong, and can't seem to think of anything.

 

–

 

Sollux takes you to the trial a few hours after berating you over your penchant for self-hate, and you scoff that he isn't much better. _Yes_ , he'd said, _but at least I'm not slowly killing myself. If I were to do it, I'd definitely have the guts to just get it over with._

 

At the courthouse, you see Terezi and she seems to be just aware of your presence. You try to talk to her, but she barely acknowledges you and gives you simple answers to your complex questions. It frustrates you to no end and makes you want to rip your hair out at the root. You try to command more of her attention to try to say something, _anything_ , to her, but she gives you little more than a cold imitation of attention.

 

John notices your behaviour and feels the need to comment on it.

 

“If you two are having problems, well then fuck me,” he mutters to you. You frown at his tone and implication that you are at fault here. Then, he addresses both you and Terezi. “My life is on the line here, can't you two cooperate long enough to maybe take me into consideration?”

 

Terezi apologizes briskly and you gives a short, gruff reply before taking your seat behind their table. Your mind is preoccupied by what you _want_ to say what you _can_ say and what you _will_ say until the trial sets itself in motion.

 

Evidence is shown that points John as the only person to enter the alley on the day of the murder. Terezi prompts the witness, the investigator who collected the footage, to discuss the possibility of there perhaps being a difference shot down the alley that gives a clearer picture.

 

That one ray of bright hope is quickly extinguished, as the camera across the street was broken by vandals the day before the murder, and was taken down to be replaced.

 

It feels a little too convenient to you, and Terezi alludes to such, but does not press the matter. You believe this is a smart move on her part, as there is no considerable reason for a set up due to the lack of hard evidence pertaining to such.

 

Court moves on dryly for really only about an hour before there is an interruption.

 

A man comes in and discusses something quietly with the prosecution before he shakes his hand, speaks with the judge, and leaves. The judge calls the prosecution and defense up to the stand where he confers with them briefly before announcing that court is adjourned for the day, pending further investigation into the case due to the apprehension of someone believed to be involved in the murder.

 

Everyone files out slowly, while the defense and prosecution all leave with haste. You and the Egberts follow suit, along with Sollux. Outside the court house as Terezi is getting into Nepeta's car, you catch her.

 

“Terezi, what's wrong?” you ask, grasping the door of the car.

 

Her response is cool and collected, nothing like the heated arguments you've both been having over the past few days. “They've apprehended a suspect with suspected gang activity who matches the description John has been giving of Jack Noir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy this took forever, but man did you guys stick it out. i've just been drowning in work but i really wanted to get this posted before something else got added to the list of things i have to do.
> 
> again if there is anything you just gotta say, feel free!


	13. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 13

**More Heart Than Brains: 13**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you would venture that John Egbert is perhaps either the luckiest or the unluckiest person you have ever encountered. He was arrested for a crime he surely did not commit, and then the man who he has been asserting committed the crime, has most likely suddenly turned up. Is this luck or not?

 

Perhaps luck works in odd ways.

 

As Nepeta is taking you to the police station, she asks how you're feeling.

 

 

“Well,” you begin, voice short. “I'm worried, quite frankly.” Your cane is gripped tightly in your hands, a squeaking sound ringing along with the honks and peals of traffic.

 

“Do you think he'll be who John saw?”

 

You listen as she puts on one of the blinkers. The car turns and Lemon snuffles in the back seat. “I fall short in some areas, sight being probably the greatest.”

 

Nepeta sighs. “You're being bitter.”

 

“I am _not_ bitter.”

 

“Well, I can't fathom why you should be _bitter_. For John, this is a good turn of events! If he's really supposed to be the man who matches John's descriptions, then the prosecutions whole case can be thrown out.”

 

You huff, and Nepeta clears her throat. “Now,” she starts, the car rolling to a stop. It remains on, so you two must be at a red light. “Do you want to talk about what happened with Karkat?”

 

You shrug. “I already told you what happened.”

 

“Yeah, but you should have seen him today. He didn't look very... _well_.”

 

Your gut twists a little, but you keep your voice calm. “How did he _look_ , Nepeta?”

 

Her voice is explanatory, and you hear her drum her fingers on the steering wheel. “The circles under his eyes were darker than usual, and he had a bruise on the side of his face?” You wince a little, remembering the solid slap you'd delivered to him the other night. “His skin is a little too dark to tell if he really looked pale, but he looked a little _pasty_ , like he was clammy.”

 

“I told you he got drunk last night,” you press, tone cold.

 

“Yeah. You _also_ told me that he was an alcoholic.”

 

“I think he still is.”

 

“He doesn't seem drunk, like, _ever_ ,” Nepeta states and the car begins to role forward.

 

“Apparently it's his preferred state of being.” Your voice is flat and heavy.

 

“Has he tried to quit?” Nepeta asks and the car turns a corner and hits another light.

 

You count to four before answering her, wondering how much of Karkat's life you should tell her. You'd told her about his problem and what you'd said the night before and what he'd _said_ this morning, but it just didn't feel right to tell her so much at the time.

 

You don't want to talk about it. “Yeah. Was Sollux with him today? I want to talk to him.”

 

“I saw him come in with Karkat. I think he drove him there.”

 

“He usually walks,” you mumble. “I should talk to him, I guess.”

 

You can very nearly hear Nepeta's shrug in her words. “How do you feel?”

 

You push hair out of your face and it promptly falls back down. “I like him a lot. He's sweet, when he's not too busy being such a goddamned asshole. I think he needs more help than he lets on. He seems so proud but it falls away so easily that you can tell he's really not like that. I think he hates himself so much that he's stuck at least partially in the past. If his friend had lived, I think he'd be a lot happier and he probably wouldn't still be visiting Gamzee.”

 

“You told me about him,” Nepeta murmurs. “He's the reason Karkat still drinks?”

 

You nod contemplatively, your eyelids half down. “I'm almost positive. He's emotionally abusive, and he would probably be physical too if he wasn't strapped to a bed most of the time. He tried to kill Karkat once.”

 

“Oh my _God_ , what?” Nepeta exclaims, shock evident in her voice.

 

“He stabbed him when he was a kid. He was a drug addict and got shitfaced and tried to gut Karkat.” You shake your head, one hand going up to tug lightly at your hair. “I remember feeling the scar. It wasn't like he just stuck him; he'd pulled the knife upward at least two inches.”

 

Nepeta is silent for the duration of the light and then softly states that she doesn't know what to tell you.

 

You sigh and press your implants in so far that they hurt. You wait for the bright bursts of dancing kaleidoscope lights that used to always come, but never will again. You remember asking your doctor why they didn't show up after you lost your eyes, and apparently they were called “pressure visions.” You couldn't even entertain yourself with the fake colors anymore, and the constant darkness seems particularly suffocating right now. “I didn't expect you to.”

 

“What did you say when he told you?”

 

You uncover your eyes and turn to face her, mouth hanging open in a frown. “I made a goddamned _joke_.”

 

–

 

You arrive at the precinct and it is in complete disarray.

 

You can imagine the papers flying everywhere as the phones ring and dicks and detectives run around you. You hear shuffling and shouting and the clicking of cameras. Angry journalists are shuffled out and past you and your lovely puppy is skittering around a bit nervously. You shush her and ask Nepeta to bring you the interrogation observation room.

 

She leads you to a quieter place where the chief of police is standing with the on-guard psychiatrist. The room smells of disturbed dust and anticipation, with a twang of sweat from anxious bodies.

 

You ask what's going on.

 

You are informed that there has been a recent raid on a warehouse where large amounts of heroine were being held. Among those apprehended, there was _one man_ who matched a description that John had given to the police. He has no previous record, and he was noticed by chance when he was being booked by the police. He was printed, and nothing turned up. However, he has a penchant for gloves. His hat is very similar, almost identical, in fact, to the one that was bagged and tagged at the crime scene.

 

His pocket knife was new.

 

You fight down the grin that threatens to break out across your face at the new information. This is too good to be true. There's no way this could conceivably be happening. Shit like this simply does not occur in _any_ iteration of _any_ universe.

 

You ask what's going to happen next.

 

You're told that he's going to be interrogated by an officer, then examined by the psychiatrist, and then probably interrogated again. He'll be asked about the heroine, and then the Egbert homocide case. Hopefully, other bodies can be tied to him. Hopefully, he'll sink himself.

 

 _Hopefully_ , this means the end for this nightmare with the Egberts and his friends and Karkat.

 

You swallow your frown and the lump in your throat. You do it a second time to squeeze away your feelings on the subject, and ask that he be examined by John Egbert's therapist as well.

 

You are told that that will happen.

 

You're all quiet as you listen to what's going on inside the room which is, startlingly, silent, save for a few soft grunting noises.

 

You ask Nepeta what's going on and she's whispers back, voice stunned, “He's _asleep_.”

 

You scoff, your disgust growing apparent through the noise of contempt. You announce that you're leaving and to call you when they have something you can actually damned use.

 

Nepeta is taking you away and back towards your car when your arm is grabbed.

 

You wrench it free, and you're met by a rasping lisp that hisses at you to calm down.

 

Nepeta chirps out a greeting while you exclaim, “Sollux!” your arms wrapping around him before you can really get a hold of the situation. “Did you bring Karkat here?”

 

“What, is my only purpose to schlep that asshole around?” His words are venomous, but the tone under them is friendly and playful.

 

“I'd assume that's why he still keeps you around.”

 

“I'm so much more useful than he is, though,” Sollux states, leaning closer. His voice becomes more hushed. “I wanna talk to you.”

 

Your mood drops considerably. “You mean you want to ask me what happened.”

 

“Not everything is about you, Terezi. I just want to talk.”

 

“No, because nothing has apparently ever been about me. Or maybe he just _wants_ it to all be about me.”

 

He pats your shoulders and jostles you a bit. “I'll be at your apartment in an hour. I have to break it to Karkat that he's going to have to take public transport home.”

 

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?”

 

“You love the sound of your own voice, for starters, and second, you love hearing about the shortcomings of others.”

 

–

 

Sure enough, around an hour and a half after you had returned home and sufficiently reviewed all details about your case with Nepeta, the cheap rumbles of Sollux's piece of shit car can be heard outside the building. He comes in and greets you again, pressing a thick plastic bottle into your hands.

 

“What's this?” you ask, palming the chilly plastic.

 

“Cherry soda. I've been told you'd fuck someone just for a bottle of this shit,” he replies, shrugging out of his coat. You hear him hang it up on your coat rack, after which he takes your arm and leads you to your kitchen table.

 

You pull out a chair and sit down with your legs folded under yourself. “I hate to break it to you, bud, but I'm _not_ in the mood for sex right now.”

 

 

“It's fine you're not really my type,” he states as you turn the lid and hear the crack as the bottle opens. You hear the fizzing of the soda, and you put your thumb over the top to feel the little jumps of liquid hitting your skin.

 

“I feel like I should be offended, but I'm not really into the whole 'tall, aloof, socially awkward type.'”

 

“That's right!” he exclaims. “You're much more into the 'short, inferiority complex, and angry type.'”

 

You rolls your eyes and take a swig. It burns a little, but it tastes sickly sweet and wonderful. “Did you really come over here to talk about Karkat?”

 

His clothes ruffle as he shrugs. “A little. Believe it or not, I care about both of you. Damn, that sounds stupid when I say it out loud.” He's quiet for a moment. “Where's Nepeta?”

 

“I was out of dog food and almost had a breakdown over it. Nepeta said she would go and pick some up. I offered to go, but she was worried about me getting lost in the state I was in and I don't know, getting hit by a car or something.” You pull your shoulders in closer to yourself and blow a little over the lip of the bottle. It makes a hollow whistling noise. “She should be back soon.”

 

“You don't strike me as someone who gets emotional over _kibble._ ”

 

“I take my dog's well-being _very_ seriously, Captor.”

 

He chuckles and his chair screams as he scoots closer to you. “So do you want to talk about what happened?”

 

“Why does everyone wanna talk about it? I'm sure Karkat's already filled you in on it.”

 

“He tends to see things through his own special lens. Your head is much clearer. C'mon tell your very best friend what happened.”

 

“What's there to even tell? I went over and he was hammered and he told me his tragic back story, and then he threw up and we fell asleep, and then he woke up and he _freaked out_ , and then he confessed his undying love or some shit, and then _I_ freaked out because I don't feel the same way.” You push your bangs from your face and your dog huffs a little from her bed across the room.

 

“Well, I'd assume he wasn't exactly the best at telling stories. I remember it a lot better than he probably does. At least, from a subjective view point. I don't think I can remember certain things with the clarity that he can, but like I said, I think that what I remember is a lot more true to life.”

 

You sigh and take another drink. “Shit, why not. It's worth a shot. At least until Nepeta comes back.”

 

“I'll make it quick then.” He clears his throat and then launches into what is simply a masterful rendering of what is quite possibly one of the most unfortunate childhoods you've heard to date.

 

“Karkat's mother died of advanced stage renal failure about 5 years after she had him. This was pretty much the start of his back luck, as it was directly caused by having him. He told you that his father died when were 13, and then he moved away. Before then, when we were like 7 or 8 or some shit, Gamzee moved up from the south and integrated himself pretty seamlessly into our lives. My brother also had an aneurysm the same year, but that's a tragedy for another time.

 

“When he moved away, he met this girl named Kanaya. She was pretty much everything Karkat wanted to be: tall, well-liked, personable, _had a mother_. You get the picture. She was good for him. They made each other happy--”

 

“Were they together?” you ask, and immediately you feel shallow. You swallow and rephrase. “Did he love her?”

 

Sollux snorts. “They weren't a _couple_ , if that's what you're asking. Yeah, they loved each other. I feel disgusting even saying it, but I love Karkat. He's my best friend and it kills me when he pulls shit like he did yesterday. I even loved Kanaya, but not like Karkat... did. It was like they were soul mates or some shit. He was so happy whenever she was around, and she was so obviously happy when she poked fun at him, or mothered him. It's not a big enough word for how I feel, but it just sucks that she died.” He's silent, probably lost in his own memories.

 

“Karkat told me she bled out,” you offer, urging him to continue. You want to hear him keep talking, maybe he can take your mind off of other matters bouncing around your skull.

 

“Yeah, I'm getting to that, hold your fucking horses,” he spits out, his lisp tearing at the words so they sound ugly. “Kanaya helped me a lot, too. Her and Karkat are the ones that got me the help I needed.”

 

“Hm?” you ask, pulling your head up to face him. The soda fizzes quietly.

 

“Karkat never told you? Well shit, he doesn't like talking about much of anything. I have a kind of mild form of schizophrenia. I hear _voices_ ,” he says, voice dragging the words out comically. “I was in a really bad state for a while, I scribbled all over the walls in my room, _convinced_ I was finding patterns in some unknown spy shit. The voices I heard sounded like I was intercepting radio signals, and more often than not, they'd be talking about _me_. From what I understand though, I got off relatively easy.”

 

“You guys are like a trio of mental illness.”

 

“You're so fucking hilarious. Law was obviously the wrong career choice.”

 

“Hardee har har. Keep going or I'm kicking you out.”

 

“Fine, fine, _your majesty_. The same year, Gamzee was diagnosed with schizophrenia too, but far more serious. They were worried it was too strong to be properly medicated, but they tried anyway. I doubt it ever even worked, because he just turned to harder and harder drugs. He tried to off himself, and then a little while later he tried to murder Karkat. He left a huge scar on his stomach from it.”

 

“I know, I felt it,” you mutter, twisting the bottle around in your hands. It's very cold, and your fingers are starting to sting a little.

 

“That's right, I'd forgotten about seeing your bare ass yesterday.” He snorts. “I didn't know he liked you that much.”

 

You push your hair away again and breathe in and out twice. “Neither did I.”

 

Sollux sighs and a hand suddenly places itself on your knee. “Look, Tez, he falls in love so easily it's literally disgusting, and I hate it, and he hates it. He was always like that, even before Kanaya passed away. I mean, I think he cared about her with every fiber of his being, and it almost killed _him_ when she died. He was an alcoholic before then, and then he got better, but then he got _worse_. I mean--”

 

“Oh, _save it_ ,” you snap, shoving his hand off of yourself. “You boys think you're the ones who created the concept of suffering? No one else has experienced loss like you all have, and so you let destroy yourselves. He seems to think he invented depression and addiction. He tries to fix himself with others, break them apart and press them into his empty spots. Well, I'm not so keen on fixing someone or being used as a surrogate for someone else. _I_ think he doesn't like to talk about her because it hurts him too much to remember, so he just searches for people to replace her. He's told me he thinks Gamzee's terrible and the way he acts is awful, and I can't help but think that he stays with that degenerate because he _needs_ a Kanaya, someone who he thinks he can take care of and who can take care of him.”

 

“I--”

 

“No, don't even try! I know you've suspected it. The way you talk about Gamzee like he's some great plague unleashed on your life, it's obvious you think he's poisonous. You just can't tell him to stop because you're afraid of what he'll do if someone actually tells him how _sick_ Gamzee is and how _sick_ he is himself!”

 

Sollux is _angry_. He stands fast and the chair he was sitting in slams backwards into your tiled flooring. It makes an loud snapping noise as it cracks against the surface. Sollux is in your face, pulling you from your seat almost immediately.

 

“Don't you _think_ I'm worried about what he'll do!?” he shouts. “I'm worried every _fucking_ day of my life! The only comfort I get with him is that I don't think he'll kill himself because he doesn't want to let anyone down. He still hates himself but _he_ doesn't want to be the one to end it. He's killing himself slowly, he's getting drunk too easily now, and his liver is probably starting to grind to a halt. He hates himself more than anyone I've ever met, but he puts it aside because for some _fucking_ reason, he likes helping others! His need to be in control and his complete incapability of gaining control of his life are tearing him apart!” He breathes in harshly before letting it all out in a single gust. “Don't you even care, Terezi? You're cackling and grinning like a maniac all the time, but do you _give_ a shit? Like honestly, do you care about what he's doing, or are you still fixated on him falling in love with you and the fact that you just don't feel the same way.”

 

His words are large, and they make you feel small, like a child. He's gripping the tops of your arms tightly and you bring a hand up to pry him off. You want your words and meanings to be as big as his, but instead they are as little as you. “I never said I didn't care, Sollux. It's just a lot to take in at once, I guess.”

 

“You guess.” He sounds deadpan.

 

You shrug. “I _guess_ a lot.”

 

He barks out a sudden laugh. “I thought you could come up with something more clever than 'I guess'!”

 

You reach a hand out and it lands on his shoulder. “I postulate that all this heavy trauma was laid on me too suddenly.”

 

“There you go.” He shrugs you off and tromps around your kitchen for a bit.

 

“Is his problem really that bad?” you ask suddenly, one hand still clutching the bottle of cherry soda.

 

Sollux scoffs at your question and you assume he's pouring himself something to drink. “Yeah. He says he's gotten better and that he “doesn't _need_ to drink, he _wants_ to,” and like there's a big fucking difference there.” He even imitates Karkat's voice and you laugh at how spot on it is, but your gut punches when you remember Karkat asserting that exact phrase with you last night. It had sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

 

“What do you do about it?” you ask, tongue dumb.

 

“About as much as I can do.” You hear him shrug and take a drink. “I mean, whenever I'm over, I try to dump out anything he has in his cabinets, but I doubt it helps. He just buys more. Half of the time he doesn't even try to stop me, because he knows it's useless. He got mad enough to hit me once, but he hasn't done it since then. He's afraid of himself when he gets that mad while he's loaded.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The kid Eridan. I'm not sure if Karkat told you, he hasn't mentioned his name to me once since Kanaya was burried, but Eridan is the one that killed her. Accidentally, if that helps at all.”

 

“But what does that have to do with what you said?”

 

“Karkat tried to kill Eridan after Kanaya was gone.”

 

You're... shocked to say the least. He's gotten mad, but you're almost positive he'd never hit you, or anyone for that matter. It all just seemed like hot air. “Like, at the funeral?”

 

He takes another drink and makes a refreshed noise. You roll your eyes and preoccupy yourself with the soda. “Nah, right there. Kanaya bled to death in his arms, and Eridan was right there watching. I don't know what he did to set Karkat off... well, aside from the obvious. But when we got there, Karkat had beaten him to a pulp and almost killed him. It took two police officers to haul Karkat off of him, and he even slugged me in the gut. He cracked one of my ribs.”

 

You swallow, throat suddenly utterly dry. “Do you think he wanted to kill him?”

 

Sollux's answer is immediate and it stings, hard. “Yeah, and he probably still does.”

 

Oh. “What happened to Eridan?”

 

Sollux stomps back over to you and you hear him right the chair he had knocked over. “Well, a few years back he tried to off himself. His own holy grief had gotten to him or something, I don't really care about him. He was a major fuckwad who pitied himself too much. Lately, I couldn't tell you. I talk to Feferi enough, but I don't usually ask about Eridan. She volunteers most of the information.”

 

Feferi. “I knew a girl named Feferi. Feferi Peixes, her sister lived right by me and Vriska.”

 

Sollux claps his hands together and exclaims, “What are the odds! The sister of the girl who let your friends blow yourselves the fuck up is the one who brought the kid who completely fucked up mine and Karkat's lives.”

 

“I'm almost positive her mother was a mobster,” you comment, offering the words to the soda bubbling away in your hands.

 

“I don't give a fresh fuck what her mother was. All I know is that Eridan didn't even get jail time for what he did.”

 

“Even if it was an accident, he still should have gotten some jail time. Actions have consequences.” You wonder why Karkat wasn't arrested for aggravated assault.

 

“He was rich and Karkat was poor. Kanaya had some money, but her mother wasn't prepared to sue someone for an accident. She's far too kind for that. Her daughters are much more hard than she is.”

 

“Is that why Karkat doesn't drive?” you ask, the question coming out of the blue.

 

“What?” Sollux is caught off guard.

 

“He never drives anywhere, you're always taking him places.”

 

Sollux clears his throat. “Yeah, he does. Him and Kanaya helped me buy my first car. He doesn't drive because he was afraid of drinking and driving. I guess he still is.”

 

You swallow again and ask Sollux what you should do.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa; _you're_ supposed to be the master of foresight, here, not me.”

 

You punch his shoulder. “Do you have any advice for me, asshat.”

 

“That wounds me.”

 

“ _I'll_ wound you.”

 

“Point taken. Really, just be there, I guess.”

 

You grin evilly, teeth breaking past your lips, sharp and somewhat manic. _“Guess, Mr. Captor?”_

 

“Jesus _fuck_ , you really are insane. I have to say I walked into that one.” He ruffles his hair and loops an arm with yours, walking you towards you couch. “You're new and actually seem to want to fight with him. One of his favourite things to do it fight. He's like a professional asshole. My best advice? Don't put up with any of his shit. Next time you see him, tell him up front you don't feel the same way. Do you want to break up with him?”

 

You fold your legs up into your lap. “No, I really don't. I was just surprised and pissed off at him, and I think I was even a little disappointed. I think I _could_ love him.”

 

“Well that's a load off _my_ mind. When you see him again, just tell him you care about him, and that you don't want to say anything until you're sure. He might fight you, so fight him back. He might act disappointed, he might even try to end it. He doesn't want to, he told me earlier that he really did mean it. I don't think you're a surrogate for emotions, Tez. I think he's not used to having someone he cares about like he cared about Kanaya. Emotionally, you might be somewhat of a replacement, but that's not _why_ he loves you.”

 

You can't help the satisfied and affectionate smile that pulls itself together. “Really? What did he say?”

 

“Fishing for compliments, ma'am?”

 

“You'll never get me to confess, sir.”

 

“Fine. He _confessed_ what he'd done and then he backed up what he'd said completely. He loves you, and he misses Kanaya, and you might be filling a slot she used to occupy, but he loves everything about you. Now, there's some actual quoting going on, alright? “She's nuts, but she doesn't put up with my shit and she's beautiful and she's so smart I could puke. I love her and it's scaring me, Sollux.” There, happy now?”

 

You wrap your arms around Sollux's neck and hug him, fake eyes closed and smile pressing into his shirt. “That makes me feel a lot better, actually. I think I'll still be mad at him, though.”

 

“Hey, it's better for everyone if you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooo buddy that wasn't even sad
> 
> there's also a new picture I added into chapter 11 in case anybody would like to see that


	14. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 14

**More Heart Than Brains: 14**

 

_“Hello, you've reached the mail box of Terezi Pyrope. I cannot come to the phone at the moment, but leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Good-bye!”_

 

You slam your wall phone back onto the receiver and then immediately regret it as the entire fixture manages to dislodge itself from your wall. You bemoan nearly all of your existence when your attempts to crush it back onto the hook fail and makes it fall again, breaking the cheap plastic corded phone even further.

 

It's been 2 days since the mysterious man, who was later discovered to be one “Spades Slick,” was arrested. You're almost positive that's a fake name, but it's not like you're in a position to really find out. He had no criminal background, never been printed, his clothing had no tags; hell, you're willing to bet he doesn't even have a birth certificate or ever paid taxes.

 

The only reason he gave up his given name was because he was probably just getting bored of the circles he was talking everyone into. He knew he was cooked for the heroin; he was found in a warehouse with enough of the stuff to kill at least 3 blue whales and he had managed to stab 4 officers before he was taken down. He and everyone else he was found with were going down for a _long_ time for that, that everyone was sure of.

 

You'd watched him being interviewed by everyone. The officers had managed to make him sufficiently angry, which didn't really seem that difficult a task. The psychiatrist had made him complacent. He had seemed insane, even. His hands had twitched from their cuffed position and you're sure he would have gladly killed everyone he came into contact with without them restraining him.

 

Then, came your turn.

 

Upon arrival, you'd had no want to speak with him. You just wanted to see him, and you were shocked at how much he'd looked like the given man John had been screaming about for God-knows how long. The chief of police had told you that Ms. Pyrope had requested that you interview him as well.

 

 _That_ was the start of your growing animosity towards her.

 

You'd sat down with the man clad entirely in shiny black. He even had a fucking _eyepatch_. A long scar ran down the side of his face from his covered eye, and his face seemed to be contorted into a permanent frown.

 

You'd suddenly felt your own on your face and lightened your expression.

 

“So,” you'd started. “I understand your name is Spades Slick.”

 

He didn't answer, just sniffed a little and stared at you.

 

You tried a joke. “Is that foreign?”

 

He seemed less than amused by your attempts at joviality, so you switch tactics.

 

“How long have you been sitting here?”

 

He shrugged. “A few hours. Maybe 12? I haven't even been let out to piss.”

 

You'd tried to look sympathetic, but it probably wasn't that convincing. “Do you want anything? Water, something to eat? ...Need to take a piss?”

 

He'd barked out a loud laugh at your pandering joke and broke into a smile that was all sharp teeth and insanity. It was different than Terezi's insanity, more unnatural and inhumane. “I'm good, I'm good, just never been held for this long is all.”

 

“You don't have a prior record.”

 

“I'm a model citizen.”

 

“You don't have _any_ record at all.”

 

His eye had narrowed at you and he'd asserted that he'd already been shrinked and was not too keen on going for a round two.

 

“Well,” you'd exclaimed, hands going up around your head. “You're in luck, because I'm not a psychiatrist!”

 

He'd seemed confused, then frowned, hard. “I don't get it.”

 

“I'm a therapist. No Ph.D, no doctorate, I can't even prescribe pills; I just listen.”

 

“Well you don't seem to be too good at that because I've already said I don't wanna talk.”

 

“Fine, then just look,” and with that, you'd pulled out the photographs taken of the crime scene John was found at.

 

The victim, Regina Nigra's body had been mangled quite gruesomely. Multiple stab wounds to the abdomen, dress ripped mostly away, blood matting her hair to her face. Her mouth was open, and blood stained her teeth. In your day, you'd seen worse, but the pictures of the bloodied woman still rang too many bells for you.

 

They had also seemed to ring bells with the man who had sat in front of you.

 

He got angry. He tried to stand, but his ankles were cuffed to the floor. He still managed to sweep most of the pictures to the floor and you'd seen the glint of murder in his eyes. He knew who she was and he knew what had put her like that. Chances were startlingly good that _he_ had put her there.

 

He'd screamed and cursed and then two officers had been let it to lead him to the overnight jail. You'd been excused and told that it would be suggested that the people drop the case against John Egbert, but nothing would probably come out of it unless Slick gave himself up. It was suggested that you go home and get yourself together, your breath smells like a brewery son.

 

You hadn't appreciated that too much, to say the least. Still, you'd gone home and actually finished what Sollux had started that morning. You'd eradicated all alcohol from your house and poured the lot of it down the sink. You'd even fished out the secret, old bottles and disposed of them too. You hadn't felt any better after purging your cabinets, but you didn't feel any _worse._

 

For the next two days until now, you'd been at home. You'd called Sollux and he came over and told you what had gone down. He wouldn't tell you what Terezi had said though, and it made your guts twist uncomfortably. What if she hated you, you don't think you'd be able to handle that. What if she didn't want to be with someone as fucked up as you? Granted, she's not perfect but that's what makes her so completely enamouring to you. What if she wanted to fix you? What if she just didn't want to _deal_ with you?

 

Worst of all, though, was probably the idea that she still felt for you and wanted to keep this going.

 

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you wanted to end it. Every moment your feelings on her changed, but they had been pretty consistent about your desire to just _be_ by her. You'd wanted to lie there while she tugged on your fingers, while she cackled, while she told you about her previous cases and reminded you that she was a real _person_ and had a _life_ past her job. She wasn't just the mad woman who laughed too loudly and put people in jail, she was the pragmatic human who had given of herself to save the life of a child.

 

And you're the asshole who pushes her away right after you hold her as tight as possible.

 

You sit down at your tiny circular table and your hands itch to drink something. You're a bit sweaty and your feet twitch a little, but you manage to not run out of the house and go to a bar. You're proud of yourself for this measly accomplishment, and you feel a little less terrible.

 

You're unaware of the time you lose staring at the fake wood grain in the table before your phone rings. You're embarrassed at how much you scramble to answer it, knocking over your chair as you pick it up on the second ring.

 

It's Terezi. “Hey Karkat, I'm coming over with some new evidence that the judge just approved. You're going to have to help me look it over seeing as I really _can't.”_

 

You go to say that she'd be welcome to come over, you're dying to see her, it's almost painful with how you've been out of contact. “That was a sh- _shitty_ joke, Tez,” you manage to sputter weakly.

 

Her smirk is audible through the phone, but her voice is surprisingly soft. “I'll be over in twenty minutes, Kar.”

 

She hangs up and you hold your phone until it begins to beep loudly. You try to slam it back on the wall but the fixture detaches _again_ and you swear loudly as you crush it back onto the hook.

 

Your sudden, immense rage manages to rip the entire thing, phone, receiver, and hook, right off the wall. You decide in a spur of the moment fit to just tear the whole fucking thing away, yanking the jack out of the wall. A small piece of plastic flips out and sticks you in the forehead.

 

You stand there with the broken hunk of plastic in your hands before you slam dunk that shit into your trash can, your immense hatred for that piece of shit coming to a head as you crush the lid of the can shut. You're breathing heavily and you want to put your fist through the wall, but you've already done enough damage, what with the new small hole created by the liberation of your land line.

 

You stomp over to your couch and lay on, your mood souring considerably. You don't need Terezi to come over. You don't want her to come over. You'd be perfectly fine if she wandered into traffic and made her debut as a _speed bump_. You've been trying to call her for two days and she hasn't answered and she didn't even have the decency to at least attempt a call-back. She had the audacity to just call up and come over like it was nothing.

 

You try to calm yourself down by thinking of your other patients. Three children dealing with the loss of a parent, one who just needs someone to talk to, five teens with clinical depression. That doesn't help, though, as you're soon contemplating what you're going to say to her. You wish she had eyes so she could see what she puts you through. You want to show her the new hole in your kitchen, show her the clothes she left at your house that you haven't moved, show her pictures of how _happy_ you were before you met her.

 

You want to show her, beat it into her hard brain that you're not someone she can tug around like this.

 

It then suddenly dawns upon you that you've been doing the same thing to her. You've dragged her around with you, trying to pry her off and simultaneously tie her to you even more tightly. You've pushed her away and pulled her back so many times it's surprising she's not dizzy. _You're_ dizzy from it, and you just wish you could pull the emergency brake and get off this roller coaster.

 

You get up and pace around a little, scratch your palms and crack your knuckles until they hurt. You contemplate reading a book, but your thoughts are interrupted by a sudden rapping on your door. You're ashamed of how you run over to the door and open it almost immediately, but you can't help yourself. The relieved smile on your face flickers away almost instantly when you eye the large pile of papers in Terezi's arms and the slobbering animal by her side.

 

 

You take a deep breath, ready to launch into your tirade over where the _fuck_ does she get the nerve.

 

Instead, you say, “Where's Nepeta?”

 

“I asked her if she wanted to stay or go home. She chose go home.” She doesn't need to say, _So we could be alone_ ; it's understood.

 

“Isn't it her job to watch or something, so you don't accidentally _die?”_

 

She huffs, shuffling the papers around in her arms. “I don't understand why people think she's so necessary to get around, I was walking in public five years before I met her.”

 

You're silent and she gives a quick retort. “Her job is to read things for me and essentially be my eyes more than Lemon Snout can.” You think hear her mumble “you're supposed to ask me inside,” but it could have just been the wind.

 

She makes a show of shuffling the papers around again and comments on the chill in the relatively mild air. You roll your eyes and invite her inside.

 

She strides in, tall and prideful, her nose up a bit too far for your liking, but you don't say anything. She's got the precise amount of steps needed to get to your kitchen table, and gently sets down the entire stack of papers.

 

“Are those supposed to be new things for me to read to you, or do you just like making photocopies?” you ask dully as you walk over to your table.

 

She pulls out a chair and sits, her dog sitting next to her. “One of my favourite things to do is make you read useless documents. It's how I get my rocks off.”

 

You sit down across from her and rub your face. When you remove your hands it feels like you're surprised to see her still sitting there, but is fades quickly. “It this all really new information?”

 

“I asked Nepeta to hand me John's whole file that I had, and then I added the new evidence I received today.” She reaches out in front of her and grabs the folder on top.

 

She hands it to you and asks you to read what the tab says. “Egbert-Nigera Tourist Photos,” you reply, reading off the light pencil markings done in Nepeta's tiny, ugly handwriting. You look up at her. “I thought there were no photos of the day, the security cameras were down?”

 

She grins sharply, puts up a hand, and points limply to something in front of her. “Note the word “tourist.” A woman was taking pictures that day and she got a few that were clear shots down the alley. After seeing the case publicized so and the new picture released of Spades Slick, she came forward with the photos. They clearly show a man with a brimmed hat speaking with the victim, timestamped at about ten minutes before the murder took place.”

 

“I take it someone described the photographs in detail to you,” you retort dryly, but inside you're leaping with joy. You feel almost sick with relief for John, he's going to make it out of this alive. His luck certainly seems to have flipped itself around completely. You peruse the pictures and find them to be exactly as she described.

 

Terezi shrugs, her grin widening. “You take what you can get.”

 

“And what exactly did you take?”

 

Her grin turns into a smirk. “I thought you'd be happier to hear about this.”

 

You shrug and put the pictures down onto the table. “I _am_ happy. For John.”

 

You think she rolls her eyes, it's very hard to tell behind her glasses. “Get over your self-pity and spit it the fuck out, Karkat.”

 

You frown at her, your face scrunching up horribly as you look at her. “Alright,” you start. “First off, fuck _you._ I don't think I deserved the cold shoulder I got, and yet! And yet! You avoided me for two days and you've even managed to coerce Sollux to get against me. He wont tell me shit about what happened and you're acting all coy and shit, and to top it all off, what I did wasn't even _bad.”_

 

Terezi stands, and you rise to match her. _“Karkat._ You're so full of _shit,_ it's a wonder you don't just explode with it! I'm not even mad at you over that, but it's just! You dumped too much on me, and then you screamed at me and then you dropped _th-that_ on me and it was just too much to take. Excuse me for needed some fucking time to think to myself about it!”

 

You give an angry snort and hunch into yourself a little. “Really, Terezi? Because I like to think that if you actually fucking cared about what happened to me you wouldn't be playing like this. You wouldn't send my friends to come and relay messages, and you wouldn't just _shut me out_!”

 

One thing you've noticed about Terezi is that she wears her emotions directly on her face, when left unchecked. It was a low blow to accuse her of not caring, and you'd regretted it the moment you'd said it, but that still didn't stop you from getting even more worked up.

 

 _“I_ don't care?” she practically shrieks at you, her cane stamping onto the floor. _“I_ am the insensitive piece of shit who doesn't give a fuck about what happens to you? Well, news flash Mr. High and Mighty, I _do!_ I'm not like you though, and I don't have to throw myself at everything and ruin myself over how I feel. I can control my emotions, whereas your insane feelings take the lead in everything you do. You're ripe to kill yourself over how strongly you feel!”

 

“I _don't_ want to die,” you scream back at her, your whole body physically reacting to the state she worked you up into. “I _can't_! I just want some piece of little happiness, and it's been a rough time getting there, and I think might have found it in you! But, apparently, you just don't seem to want to deal with me. I've got so much baggage, you need a bellhop to carry it around. You're perfect though, with the friends and life you have. You ruined and broke your friends, and they're still _there!_ They stayed with you, you can carry on a conversation with them, they don't need _you_ to take care of _them!_ And look at how I fucked all that up; my whole family reduced to one _dickwad_ who prefers the sound of his own voice to everything else. Half of my friends aren't my friends any more, another ended up dead and the other two will _never_ be completely right again. When you were willing to listen to and put up with all that, I thought that you really were someone I could _conceivably_ spend the rest of my life with, but now I don't even want to _look_ at you!” Your hands ball themselves into tight fists and you keep them stationary at your sides. You itch to hit something, but you wont. You'll never let any rage get the better of you. “You know what?” you finish, your tone deadening slightly. “Just get out, and take your fucking animal with you. Good fucking riddance, _I_ don't even care any more.”

 

This is the wrong thing to say, and that painfully true fact becomes apparent nearly the instant you finish speaking. Terezi does not move; instead her face twitches a little, her rage visible in the way her entire body pulls itself taut. Her cane in pressed hard into the floor, her dog whimpering and spitting out the occasional screaming bark, concerned.

 

“You care so much it kills you! Your heart is such a bright red; it's on fire!” Terezi yells, her cane tapping on the floor of your kitchen. Lemon is barking and shuffling about anxiously. “Red blood, you're too hot blooded, you don't know how to stop, you're going to burn yourself out! You think you hate everyone, but you love everything so much you can't help but hold hate for how much it means to you. You're so intense, your insides are scorched with every smouldering beat your heart heaves!”

 

Your hands are in fists, you want to punch something. You hate her so much you love her, everything about her from her frozen heart to her burning fake eyes. “If I'm on fire, then you're frozen over! Your brain is blue from the frigid blood your bones seep, and it keeps your everything insane and solid. It seals in your madness and keeps you fresh, your fingers and hands cold just like your attitude to the things you hate. My burning hate may be burning passion, but your hate is cold and can't be love. It will _never_ be, your heart is too frozen to beat!” you spit at her, your ears burning.

 

Her face is just as blotchy red as yours is, and scrunched in a similar expression of hate. That _fucking dog_ is still barking so you bring your foot down onto the floor, shaking the fridge and cabinets.

 

Terezi is breathing heavily when she throws her body forward at you, flailing to hit some part of you. You catch her fist with your shoulder and go down with her onto the tiled floor. You are surprised she managed to hit you and not kill herself on impact.

 

You're even more surprised when she crushes her lips onto your cheek. Then she corrects herself and hits your mouth straight on.

 

–

 

Contrary to what Sollux attempts to assert later on that night as Terezi is listening to the television spit a crime drama at you, you did not sleep with Terezi. Your fight had petered out almost as soon as it had started. She had kissed you, and you'd kissed her back and she had pulled away from you and said that she hated you, her eyes closed.

 

Her head was cupped in your hands and you'd given a quiet, “No you don't” as a reply, and she'd kissed you again. You like to think her eyes were shut too, but yours had closed by that point and did it really even matter if hers were closed? They were purely for decoration, when it all comes down to it.

 

“Sollux, not everything in a relationship has to do with sex, you know,” you hiss quietly into the receiver of the phone. You don't want Terezi to hear, but attempting to conceal anything from her ears is usually a futile effort.

 

“See, but for you,” Sollux rebukes, voice tinny in your shitty old replacement wall phone. “That used to be all a relationship consisted of.”

 

“That was a low blow, douchecanoe. But seeing as it's actually true, wouldn't it also be true that now my relationships would consist of talking the girls more and our hands down each other's pants less?”

 

“You act like you're so smart just because you finished college,” he huffs.

 

You roll your eyes and tell him you need to go. He manages to get out a final jab at your love life before you gently place the phone back onto the receiver since you don't want to break the only replacement you have for when you break the actual phone.

 

You stomp back over to Terezi and she's utterly engrossed in her cheesy, starkly lit drama. She responds enough when you sit down next to her to slide a tad bit closer and twine an arm around yours, but otherwise she's listening intently to every clue New York's finest can unearth.

 

“That was Sollux,” you say once it switches to commercial.

 

She rotates her ears a bit before rubbing them and saying that she knew that already.

 

You sigh, already getting exasperated with her. “And how did you know that, your face was almost pressed against the glass of the TV.”

 

She turns to you and grins hard. “It's so cute when you try to whisper so I won't hear.”

 

You swallow and try to force down the blush that creeps up your face. “You may be interested in knowing that Sollux asked about you.”

 

She scoots a bit closer and leans into you. “And what did he inquire about, Mr. Vantas?”

 

You scrunch your face up slightly, but return her question with an answer. “He wanted to know if you'd “fucked that pisslord into the floor” yet.”

 

She gives a snort of laughter and then quickly covers her face with one hand. “He's so disgusting I don't understand how you've put up with him this long.”

 

You lean your head back on the couch and pass your free hand over your eyes. “It's a wonder no one's killed him yet.”

 

You're both quiet for a moment before Terezi apologizes for saying all those things to you earlier, her voice too small for her personality. She lightly squeezes the hand you have twined with hers.

 

You squeeze back, throat scratchy as you give her a similar apology. “I'm sorry for saying you didn't care.”

 

“It's hard on me when people I care about think I _don't.”_

 

You swallow again, harder this time. “Do you want to talk about what I said a few days ago?”

 

She sighs and her eyes close, the display probably more for your benefit than for hers. “I talked about it with Sollux, and I like the conclusion I came up with.”

 

You wait a full clock minute before you ask her what that was.

 

“I told Sollux that I think I conceivably _could_ love you.”

 

You roll your eyes. “Thanks for the consideration.”

 

She pokes you sharply. “No numb nuts, I mean it as with the way we're going, I'm probably going to fall in love with you.”

 

You silent briefly before you say, “You're probably one of the strangest people I've ever met. Who the fuck thinks about a relationship like that? This isn't a board game where you follow the path to sure rewards, it's real life with real people!”

 

She blows out a gust of air at you, her reply thick and obviously thought out. “Just because I have my feelings sorted out better than you do doesn't mean I don't know what a “real life” relationship is like.”

 

“Fine,” you say, not wanting her to know that you can actually see a bit of the logic in what she's saying. Nothing so far has really changed you and how you feel about her, aside from to strengthen those emotions, and it's hard to think that anything really ever could.

 

“I like that we fight,” she states out of the blue after another portion of the show had run it's course.

 

“Really?” you snort. “I would have never guessed our intolerable natures would ever be _enjoyable.”_

 

“Well, I told you before. I think fighting is really important in a relationship; you have to meet your match.”

 

“I wouldn’t exactly call you my fighting equal. I have years of experience on you.”

 

“You keep thinking that, sweet.”

 

You're both quiet and it's enjoyable. She's not as frigid as she had seemed before and you would probably even be dozing a little if not for how the part of her that touches you seems practically charged.

 

“So,” she says eventually, after her drama has reappeared back on the television. She doesn't seem nearly as engrossed as she was before. “With a bit more evidence and a confession from Slick, I can get the prosecution to drop the charges against John.”

 

“It feels like a nightmare is coming to an end, you know,” you murmur, oddly tired.

 

“It wasn't all so bad, really. Well, for John the entire thing was complete and total horse shit. But I got to meet you and really ask myself what it means to be someone in my position and honestly, I wouldn't trade this experience for anything in the world.”

 

“Not even eyes?”

 

_“Especially eyes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i switched to sai and it makes the pictures look infinitely less shitty
> 
> anyway this chapter was fun and i think we're done with being unbearably sad for now stay tuned


	15. More Heart Than Brains: Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the huge gap between updates. On the bright side, I got accepted into college.

**More Heart Than Brains: 15**

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you take your line of work very seriously.

 

You've fought very hard to overcome how difficult it can be to accurately give all the facts without being able to see most of them. You enjoy it when others take you completely seriously, and it never fails to make you grind your teeth to nubs when they feel less for you because of your disability.

 

So you take it very personally when people try to sugar coat things for you because they think you can't handle it.

 

After spending the night at Karkat's, you wake up the next morning to find that you sleep much better when he's there. Shit, you sleep better when there's _anyone_ around. The most lasting effect of losing your eyes, aside from the lack of vision, was your consistent inability to sleep or wake up properly. You were told it was because your eyes were responsible for all of that, and that you'd probably have difficultly falling asleep for the rest of your life. Without eyes to feel heavy, it was hard to sleep.

 

Not so lately.

 

You're uncomfortably sweaty as you peel your limbs away from him a bit. You're sure to be gentle and wake up slowly, lest he freak out as he did the last time you both ended up like this. You're both in his bedroom and you briefly wonder why you never spend time at your home, but quickly dismiss it due to the fact that you don't want to put Nepeta in that situation.

 

He stirs and you also wonder why he's always clinging to you like a child. “Kar, time to wake up.”

 

He groans and it's obvious he's been awake for a while already. “No it's not, it's only noon.”

 

“ _Only noon?”_

 

“I was just kind of hoping we wouldn't get up until we actually had to,” he mumbles and you can feel his face press further into the space between your jaw and collar bone.

 

You blow a breath over his face and he presses a kiss to your throat. “How long have you been awake?” you ask.

 

“About an hour,” he answers, voice muffled.

 

“And you just _laid_ here?”

 

“I didn't want to wake you.”

 

You shrug yourself out of his grasp a bit more, and he releases you. The places where he was stuck to you are sweaty and you feel a chill pass over you without the constant comfort of his warmth. “Aren't you cramped or something? You pretty much laid still for an entire hour.”

 

You feel the bed shift and then come back as he gets up. His feet pad softly around the room and you're quiet while you listen to the sounds of him changing clothing. “You're a pretty heavy sleeper,” he states simply, his voice coming and going as the shirt passes over his face.

 

You shrug and he sits down next to you and gives you a sudden kiss. You're surprised, but you return it and an uncharacteristic laugh escapes your lips when he pulls away.

 

“Is something funny?” he asks, and you smile so hard your cheeks ache.

 

You lean over and hug him, your hair a mess and he hugs you back, his warm arms coming around you and pressing you to him. “You're something else, Karkat Vantas,” you laugh into his shoulder.

 

“I feel like should be offended, so is this the right time for a “fuck you,” or is it more appropriate at a later time?” he asks, but you can hear the smile in his voice and you really do feel as if you could love him easily and entirely.

 

“What makes this time different from the last?” you ask, ignoring his mock question and posing a different one.

 

“Usually when someone tells me I'm “something” it usually means they're about to insult me,” he answers.

 

“Not _that_ , asshat. The last time I slept over, it was like you didn't even want me to touch you.”

 

His arms tighten and then relax around you and he shrugs. “We talked about it. I'm just... confused, I guess.”

 

You clutch at him now a bit more than hug him. “I don't understand how you feel, but I won't leave you because of it, either. I mean, I don't know how you feel so I wont try to change you, but I will  _not_ let you ruin yourself.”

 

He's quiet, and his silence leaves you on edge. Now  _you're_ grasping at him like a child, inhaling the anxious quiet as you wait for him to respond. His breathing is even and then he takes a large breath in through his nose. His arms are hard around you, but your fingers are pressed hard into his pliant shoulders. You want him so badly to feel that you care so much for him for him to know that you're anther who counts themselves among the ranks of people who would be destroyed if he died.

 

He mutters a quiet  _thank_ _you_ into your shoulder and your skin soaks it in. The kiss he presses there seems to assimilate itself into your bloodstream and push itself right to your heart where it takes root and swells. You swallow your jumping pulse and you give him your own lips to lose himself in the way you're lost in his.

 

Pretty soon, you're both pressing soft, slow kisses to each other and you don't want to move when your phone rings. So, you don't the first two times it rings, and then on the third you decide that enough is enough and you answer and Vriska's grating, smoke-filled voice pours from the tinny speakers.

 

“Hey, Terezi, you wanna get dinner tonight? We're staying by Tavros' brother for a few days so that leaves me wide open and in your area.”

 

Her voice is too loud and you remember it so well. You clear your throat. “Sure, Vris, it'll give us some time to catch up. Reminisce about the good old days.”

 

“Alright, so what time? I'll pick you up at your apartment, I don't want you accidentally wandering into traffic.”

 

You frown at the phone, the running joke of your susceptibility to inadvertently becoming a road bump grating even more so than usual on your nerves. You tell her to pick you up at six and that she can pick the place, you don't really care. You feel for the night stand and rest the phone on it before lying back down next to Karkat and informing him that you should probably get going.

 

As you expect, he complains.

 

“You're leaving me here alone and going to go and meet that stone-cold bitch,” he states, voice dry and rumbling.

 

You roll your eyes and he huffs at you. “Karkat, you don't even know her. She's really not that mean.” You think about your statement for a moment and then amend it. “She's not  _evil_ .”

 

“Yeah, great. 'She's a lot of things, but at least she hasn't murdered someone yet!'” Karkat mocks, his voice a shrieking high falsetto.

 

You slap a little aimlessly at where you hear him, and a loud smack rings through the room. He shouts and you tell him to cut it out, you have to go shower and then you're going back to your apartment.

 

He wants to know how you're going to get there.

 

You state that your legs work fine.

 

He observes that your eyes do not.

 

You give a sharp smile and laugh, and then get up. You ask him if he wants to shower with you and he makes a startled coughing noise and you can't help but love how embarrassed he still is about intimacy. He sounds a little choked when he responds with a quiet “yes.”

 

He holds your hand as you walk down the short hallway, your fingers gently skimming the walls and fixtures. The tile of the bathroom is cool and you wiggle your toes on it. Karkat wraps his arms around you from behind, his face pressing into your shoulder and neck. He feels heavy behind you and your hands pull your shirt off, toss it onto the floor in front of you.

 

Karkat removes his hands and fumbles as he tries to undo the back clasp on your bra and you let out a smart chuckle at his clumsy hands. He gets it undone soon, though, and you slide it off before turning around and taking off his shirt. You think you hear him shuffle over to the shower and turn it on, and then the piping sputters to life. You slide your underwear off and climb into the spitting stream of water, Karkat following shortly behind you.

 

You don't think you've ever taken a shower that you had enjoyed so much.

 

You had dressed slowly after getting out, and Karkat had seemed truly unable to let you go. His hands remained touching some part of you at all times. When he was pressing into you with your back against the cold tile wall, you couldn't make out what he was murmuring to you. The hot water and his rough hands were overwhelming, and the affection you held for each other had made you shake.

 

You're on your way walking to your apartment as you recall this. Your face begins to burn a little as you remember exactly what he felt like and how your feelings for him felt under your skin. At your apartment Nepeta demands details and you hand them to her, and then Sollux calls you and asks if you and Karkat had sex.

 

You tell him to ask Karkat, to which he replies that he already has and that asstrain would not tell him. He berates you for information and you just really don't feel like listening to his lisping interrogation, so you tell him to go see Karkat. He asks why, and you say because you said so.

 

He informs you that your reason is stupid, and that you are not the boss of him. You remind him that

Karkat is more likely to relinquish any information given he gossips like a teenager when given proper prodding.

 

Sollux hangs up and your home is quiet for about 7 seconds before your phone rings again. It's your home line, and Nepeta reaches it before you can.

 

She sounds perplexed. “Yes, she can be there tomorrow at 2 PM. Can I ask what this is about?”

 

You're standing behind Nepeta and you think you hear her writing something down. You're bent down close to the phone but it's hard to make anything out. You really wish you had installed that second phone.

 

She hangs up after thanking whoever it was and you ask her what's up.

 

You hear paper tearing and a smack as she sticks it to fridge. “The prosecution wants to meet with you tomorrow, Terezi.”

 

You're silent for a moment, digesting what she said. “You think they want to drop the suit?”

 

Nepeta snorts. “I don't think anything. The man sounded very... bland, when he asked for a meeting.”

 

“And who _was_ this man?”

 

“The prosecutor. He “wishes to discuss the findings that have come to light in recent events”.” Nepeta states, and you can nearly taste the mimic in her voice.

 

You sigh, rolling your shoulders and rubbing your neck. “I can feel my good mood leaving. Knowing how hell-inducing this case has been, they're probably going to produce some sort of insider camera that shows John stabbing that woman to death.”

 

Nepeta lets out a short laugh and pokes your shoulder. “Look, they probably want to talk about getting John released or making a deal. I mean, he's just a kid and he so obviously didn't hurt anyone.”

 

“Yeah, but Nepeta, _I've_ always done my damned best to see that the innocent are released and the guilty are put away, but since when have all lawyers been that way?”

 

“Tez, thinking that way is gonna get you no where. Besides, what's the use in marinating on what other people do; you have to be concerned about yourself at some point.”

 

“Nepeta, trust me, the first person on my mind is almost _always_ myself.”

 

–

 

Six o'clock rolls around sooner than you think it will, and Vriska is prompt and abrasive in collecting you. She knocks and then walks in before you have a chance to open the door, and then she gives Nepeta a loud greeting and then she drapes herself across your furniture. You remind her that she has hopefully and made reservations and she snorts at you, saying that you need to get the stick out of your ass and relax.

 

You want to frown but your mouth curls into a smile, the expression falling easily on your face. Vriska talks to Nepeta for a bit, and while you're sure Nepeta seems sweet to talk to, her voice carries the hints of her discomfort when around Vriska. You've gotten used to hearing the way she makes others uncomfortable.

 

You'd managed to dislodge Vriska from your current life and when you get into her van, it's like you're sliding back into the one you used to have with her. Lemon sits in the back seat, breathing quietly while you listen to Vriska drum her uneven fingers on the steering wheel to the music bleeding from her radio. The place she brings you to is somewhat out of the way, and when you go inside, the air feels thick on your face and smells like salt.

 

You both sit down in what feels like a booth and you ask Vriska where you're sitting and she says in the corner of the restaurant, by the kitchen. You say alright, and then ask where she took you. She says it's a restaurant that Tavros likes so she brings him here sometimes. You ask her if this is a date and she snorts at you.

 

You grin and then ask her why she really wanted to get together with you.

 

You hear her blow out air, and her two real fingers tapping rhythmically, while her two fake sound loud and hollow on the formed plastic table.

 

“I haven't seen you in a while and I wanted to,” she gives simply, but you can tell when she speaks and the words are heavier than normal.

 

You shrug, taking your own menu and dragging your nails lightly down the smooth laminated surface. “I haven't seen you in a _really_ long time.” You grin at your own joke and you hear Vriska groan. “Speaking of which,” you start, “you should probably read the menu to me.”

 

“You're so fucking needy,” she mumbles, but she reads it off to you anyway. You're both practised at this, and it feels natural to be alone with Vriska in a way it hasn't for a long time.

 

You eventually just pick something and when the waitress comes over, you both tell her and she clears the table and puts a soft basket on the table that smells like stale bread. Vriska begins munching and you hear the crunch of dry Chinese noodles.

 

“So, Vris,” you begin, clearing your throat as you absently stir your water with the straw. “I feel like there's something you wanna tell me.”

 

Vriska swallows and takes a loud drink, then sets her glass hard on the table. “I know we were together the other day after your angry little man brushed out and stuck you with me.”

 

You make a face at saying you were “stuck” with her, but you put it away after a moment. “He's temperamental.”

 

“No shit,” she snorts. “I didn't know someone could even _get_ that fucking red.”

 

You shrug as you take a drink. “He just can't handle the way he feels half the time.”

 

You can almost feel the way Vriska looks at you sideways when she asks, “Is there a reason for that?”

 

“Is there a reason you were born _without_ emotions?”

 

“It's taken me a long time to rid myself of all feelings, and lemme tell you, I'm proud of how few fucks I'm actually capable of giving over something.”

 

“So then why do you still visit Aradia? I told you the other day that I don't really much any more.”

 

Vriska is silent for a second, then takes a breath as if to say something, then goes silent again. Finally, “You said it was because she reminded you of our childhood, which, by the way, could have turned out much worse than it did. I visit because Tavros likes to and because I fucking want to. Aradia was my friend and she still is, even though I'm disappointed in her.”

 

You frown, confusion spreading over your face. “Disappointed?”

 

“Yeah,” Vriska says shortly. “Disappointed.” Her fingers begin their hollow and uneven rhythm on the table again.

 

You feel angry and upset and you shift your position and accidentally rouse your dog from her sleep under the table. You hush her and then face Vriska who's munching on the hard noodles again. “So remember how her parents died about 8 years back and then Aradia was put in the hospital by her sister who now no one knows where she is?”

 

You nod, still upset. You remember the funeral was small and hardly anyone was there to mourn the small family.

 

“Well, when that happened, her sister was officially 'estranged' and Aradia gained power of attorney over herself. Aradia is technically mentally sound enough to live by herself in normal society, but she keeps herself at that place because she doesn't _believe_ she can live by herself. She can release herself any time she wants, since the person who placed her there has been missing for over 7 years and Aradia is legally an adult, in _addition_ to having been declared mentally sane and functioning by a licensed doctor. She _keeps_ herself there.”

 

You don't know what to say you're not used to that. You're spared responding for a few moments because the waitress comes over with your orders and you hurriedly push some of the food around and into your mouth. You don't like not knowing everything that happens around you and you're offended that Vriska knows something about Aradia that you do not.

 

The only sounds between you two is tense chewing before you can't handle it any more and you read forward and make contact with Vriska's face.

 

“What are you doing?” Vriska asks, swallowing loudly.

 

“What do you _look like_ , Vriska?”

 

“ _What?”_

 

“I didn't know Aradia got better, I didn't know what was wrong with Karkat, I don't know _anything_ that goes on, really? I don't know what Karkat looks like or what you look like now, or what _I_ look like, and I'm even starting to forget what colors look like. Everything I know is a memory of a memory and even my memories are wrong because now the only way I can know how something is, is if someone _tells_ me.” You're feeling emotional and your voice is higher than normal. Your throat hurts as if you're trying to suppress tears, but you're not crying. You think this is how an existential crisis feels, and really, you're probably having one. The only things you can be sure of are what you can pull from situations, but other than that, for lack of a better term, you really are _blind_.

 

“Shit, Terezi, calm the fuck down,” Vriska says in response to your panicked revelation. “Aradia never told me, I looked through her things and Tavros told me some and then I asked Equius _veeeeeeeery_ nicely if he could do some digging around in there and he came up with this for me.”

 

Your hand is still on her face and she puts her mangled hand over it. A thick leather glove covers it, hiding the two prosthetic fingers. They press hard into your hand. You frown. She sighs.

 

“Alright, my hair isn't as curly as it was when we were little and it's a little darker now too. I put streaks of blue through it, and now I have a scar on my right arm from where I fell on some of Equius' gym equipment. Most days I put in a normal fake eye, usually for when I'm going to work, and other days I have one that looks like it has an 8 on it. My shirt's green today, but when I saw you with Aradia, I think it was blue-striped. Tavros tells me I wear too much blue eye liner, but I don't think so--” she says, and she probably would have continued but you cut her off.

 

“That's enough, Vriska, it's _fine_. What does our waitress look like?” you ask, suddenly hungry to see everything you've missed for the past 15 years.

 

You hear her smile and the way her voice is thick with it. She describes her to you, and then you ask what Aradia looks like now and Vriska says that she's just as happy as she used to be and she's abnormally short and her hair is so  _ long _ , even when she curls it. She likes to wear sun dresses and she wears red lipstick and her brown eyes light up even more than when you two were children. 

 

You ask what Nepeta, and Equius, and Tavros, look like now and she gives you simple facts but you're ravenous for more, so you demand them. What does Nepeta's face look like, does she have any birth marks, what  _ kind  _ of green are her eyes. You know her face is like a moon, round and smooth, but Vriska alerts you to the fact that she has freckles across her gold skin, like a mask around her forest green eyes. Equius is missing teeth, but he has fake ones drilled into place and his eyes are an unusual and foreign dark blue and look heavy and piercing in his pasty face. Tavros is actually pretty tall when he lies down and sometimes he doesn't shave the sides of his head for weeks at a time and it gets fuzzy like a dog.

 

You ask her what Karkat looks like, and you add what she says to your heavy mental picture of him.

 

His curiously red-brown eyes are deep set and his eyebrows hang low over them, making him look angry. His skin is dark and so is his expression and he's  _ short _ . His nose is straight but it kinda makes a circle at the end and he has a sharp face. From what Vriska can remember his mouth is thin and long.

 

You process this and Vriska suddenly asks you what he looks like  _ to you _ .

 

You're caught off guard by this question and you're not quite sure what she means. “What?”

 

“I wanna know what we look like when you can't see us,” Vriska states, and you hear her lift food to her mouth.

 

“Alright,” you start, not quite sure where to begin. You decide to start with her. “You're overwhelmingly _sour_ , like those blue-raspberry candies. You're sharp and pointy and loud and to me, it's like your face has changed over the years into one long pointed thing, starting at the back of your head and pulling all of your features out with your nose. Your hair is longer than I can think and curls in a bright mass around your laughing, sour blue, pointed face.”

 

Vriska is silent before giving a very emphatic,  _ “What the fuck?” _

 

You shrug. “You asked.”

 

“Okay,” she says, voice coy. “Aradia.”

 

You blow out a breath. “Bright and warm like sunshine. It's like her personality is smooth and round and everything slides off of it. She floats above the rest of her self and her hair drags down the floor behind her, keeping her where she is. She might be small, but when I think of her, she's large and her eyes are wide and take up most of her face. Her mouth is small and curled closely like a flower. You're sour and antagonistic, and she's sweet and helpful.”

 

“Wow, thanks,” Vriska deadpans, and you can just _tell_ she's annoyed.

 

“I aim to please,” you say politely and you begin to push your food around. You feel a sense of winning in that Vriska is quiet and you know you put her that way. It's easy for you to fall back into your competitive ways with her.

 

Vriska then speaks up, suddenly and clearly:  _ What does Karkat look like to  **you?** _

 

You contemplate her question and answer slowly. “He's both larger and smaller in my mind. He's capable of compassion and he's not nearly as hateful as he seems and it's like his skin is completely covered with what made him the way he is. Whenever he speaks, it grates and it shows in the way I see him; his eyes are almost always never open when I think about him, and I have to consciously open them. His heart is too large for his body and he's  _ red _ , his soul and everything about him. His mouth is large and his hands are broad and his nose is straight and soft, and his face forms a shape I can't describe.”

 

Vriska quietly takes your description in and you think of all she asked you about him last time you two were together. You had told her you had slept with him, but you did not want to tell her about his dead friend and about his abuses and about how he loved you and you're still adding too many things to your image of him to say you can love him.

 

Then, Vriska asks you a question that you couldn't answer. It plagues your mind through dinner and the way home. It spills through your head when you talk to Nepeta at your apartment, and it scratches at the edges of your skull as you try to fall asleep that night.

 

_What do you look like to yourself?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah no picture. I dunno, I kind of had a hard time thinking of where to put it, and I'll probably end up making one for it later or tomorrow. Anyway, thanks for hanging on for this long, only a few more chapters left to go!


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